


The Golden Cage

by Phoenix1966



Series: All That Glisters [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abduction, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Harem, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Character Death, Blindfolds, Bottom Jared, Caning, Captivity, Chastity Device, Claustrophobia, Cock Cages, Come Marking, Community: spnkink_meme, Crying, Depression, Discussion of Abortion, Discussion of Castration, Dom/sub Undertones, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fainting, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Flashbacks, Harems, Hate Sex, Hurt Jared, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, Kidnapping, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, NSFW Art, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Beta Read, Older Jensen, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Poisoning, Possessive Jensen, Public Humiliation, Punishment, Racist Language, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Lubrication, Sheikh Jensen, Shotgunning, Slavery, Slow Build, Smoking, Spoilers for Charles Dickens' works, Storms, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tattoos, Top Jensen, Violence, Wordcount: Over 200.000, Worldbuilding, concubine Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 281,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix1966/pseuds/Phoenix1966
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared Padalecki was on the adventure of a lifetime before settling into the drudgery of life as a clerk in his father's company. But as he traverses the Arabian Peninsula, his caravan is attacked and he ends up the property of Sheikh Ankour, forced to bend to the man's every whim.</p><p>More terrible is the fact that Jared knew the sheikh as Jensen Ackles when they met in England two years prior and had fallen in love. However, because of the Padalecki patriarch's racism and a tragic twist of fate, Jensen left, quite certain that Jared was as hateful as his sire.</p><p>Jensen can't believe his luck when the very boy who broke his heart ends up at his feet, completely at his mercy. Too bad for Jared that Jensen has none to spare...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story is a fill for [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/101150.html?thread=38458654#t38458654) prompt at spn-kink meme. The prompt may contain spoilers. 
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies that this is all fiction, no profit is made and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> I do not give permission for anyone to repost my works anywhere. If this continues, I will delete all my work and no longer post. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tried to make this story as historically accurate as possible, right down to ship names, etc.  
> However, for plot reasons, there are two major differences between our world and this one. 
> 
> First, a small percentage of males have the ability to have children and are referred to as "carriers". They often, depending on the society they live in, face some of the same or worse discrimination/sexism as women do. The second is that most of the world and the world's religions accept/condone same sex unions, so mixed sex or even all-male harems would be as common as all-female ones would have been.

 

_ _

 

_June 1853_

_26°54'08"N 51°26'49"E, the Persian Gulf_

 

Jared placed his fountain pen down and carefully closed his journal around it, using the pen as a makeshift placeholder. The tan leather binding, dotted with a few stains, was worn smooth and shiny with age. Unconsciously, he traced the dips and divots of the cover as if it was his personal palm stone. Jared tipped his head back, leaning more fully against the taffrail of the poop deck, and let the sun warm his face, washing everything a dull orange behind closed lids. The creaks and groans as the teak ship rocked were now familiar to him after more than three months aboard the Blackwall Frigate _Northfleet_. And they, along with the flap of canvas, were oddly soothing. An occasional splash of water accentuated the nautical lullaby, bringing with it a fresh whiff of the distinctive smell of the sea like primeval tears – an ancient and bitter tang.

The rhythm of the ship was different, however, since they’d departed Calcutta. Not the ship itself, per se, but the hum and bustle of the crew and passengers. The trip out from London had been full of excitement, both on Jared’s part and that of the other passengers and crew. Newly acquired midshipmen had run eagerly across the yards in games of “follow the leader” when not studying knot tying or the proper use of a sextant, while seasoned crew had smiled fondly at the skylarking of the “young gentlemen” – as midshipmen were known – and filled their heads with tales of adventure and derring-do that they could look forward to during their life at sea. Many of the passengers, equally young and starry-eyed, were eager to burst onto the scene of India’s society. Debutantes, with trunk-loads of dresses and sundries, ready to make their mark and griffins – civilians entering Indian Civil – alike were set to conquer the social circles. More than one tropical night during the outward voyage had been filled with concerts and theatrics. The excitement had been palpable and there was an air of giddiness that was infectious.

But now that ship had turned homeward, albeit following a rather circuitous route, a somber mood had descended like a pall. The ‘tween decks housed ill soldiers and already there’d been one case of a tolling bell and a Union Jack draped _something_ at the gangway, ready to be returned to the ocean depths. Pale faced women flitted above deck, torn between the husbands they’d left behind in Calcutta and the children they were returning home to. And more than one haggard man had snapped at a too rambunctious midshipman, quelling the young gentlemen’s natural exuberances. Jared wondered if the reaction was truly because of the monkey-like mischief gone sour or rather said gentleman was already dreading having traded the stir of frontier campaigning for a smoking-room chair at the “Rag”, where all he had to look forward to was swapping tales of yesteryear with other retired Army and Navy men in their private, elite club.

The only positive light Jared was able to find in the rather morose change was the deck had become more sedate; he’d been able to update his journal above board, rather than in his small and somewhat stuffy cabin, without risk of too much distraction. Glancing at the metal case that rested by his side, he was once again thankful he’d invested in a selection of fountain pens, not to mention a box of A.W. Faber’s finest Polygrade pencils, which freed him from being tethered to a desk with ink and dip pen. And, as he reclined farther against the rail, he found his thoughts drifting like the tides with each roll of the ship.

“Writing again, Mr. Padalecki?” came a familiar, deep voice. Jared opened his eyes, quickly bringing up a hand to shield them from the sun, and squinted at the source of the sound.

 

Striding over, confidence clearly visible in his every step, was Captain Omundson. As usual, the commander was dressed to the nines in his blue uniform coat with gold embroidery, black velvet lapels, cuffs and collar. His waistcoat and pants were of the deepest buff. His black stock immaculate, side arms pristine and cocked hat placed just so. The gold buttons of his coat were stamped with the lion and crown of the Honorable East India Company and shined only moderately more than his boots. His salt and pepper hair was, not unlike Jared’s own unruly, nut-brown locks, a touch too short to effectively tie in a queue, so it brushed his stiff collar in thick waves. His beard was neatly trimmed, although the gray was more noticeable there. His eyes, a startling blue, were sharp and his brows were quirked in a sardonic manner.

Jared found himself straightening his posture imperceptibly under that watchful, hawk-like gaze and tugged his waistcoat a bit straighter as well. Like all H.E.I.C. ships, genteel behavior was expected of the passengers, although Jared had heard that things were more lax on the Australia bound vessels. Though the men who commanded the ships were in the Merchant Service, most ran them to Royal Navy standards, especially on the India ships. The officers and midshipmen dressed similarly to the captain. And passengers, no matter who their parents might be, were expected to behave with a certain amount of decorum. Part and parcel of that was appearing properly attired when above deck, no matter if the pitch in the seams was bubbling from the heat; coat and stock were a must. Jared was secretly glad he had splurged some of his monies in Calcutta and had had a few cotton suits tailor made for his long form. If he would have had to manage solely with what he’d brought from England, he was certain he would have disappeared in a puddle of perspiration.

“Collecting my thoughts and impressions of Calcutta, Captain,” Jared replied. “I’m afraid I’ve let myself lag a little.”

Glancing at the closed journal, Omundson said wryly, “Don’t let me keep you then,” and made as if to leave.

Jared smiled, dimples peeking out, and ducked his head. “Clearly, I’m still lagging,” he admitted. He was a passenger on the ship and had no real duties, but found he couldn’t remain idle for long. His journal was a labor of love, however, where he could catalogue the day’s events and organize his thoughts, not to mention include sketches of things that caught his fancy. He’d been told more than once he had a dab hand at drawing.

Omundson nodded and drew himself up taller, if such a thing were possible. “I’ve been meaning to pass along my personal thanks for the time you spent with the middies in Calcutta.”

Jared’s smile deepened at the rare slip of language in the usually formal man. “No thanks necessary. It was my pleasure to have their company as we discovered the city together.”

“Still,” the captain continued as though Jared had not spoken, “I know they can be a rambunctious lot at times.” He scanned the deck, eyes briefly pausing at each of his crew above board, and nodding minutely to himself, as though checking something off an invisible list.

“Their behavior was beyond reproach,” Jared assured the captain. And they _had_ been good lads, Jared thought to himself. At nearly eighteen, he wasn’t much past a lad himself – only two years older than the oldest of the middies – but he certainly felt it in his heart of hearts and didn’t consider himself one any longer. And, although he wouldn’t dare admit it to the captain, as soon as the ship had begun its navigation down the Hooghly River, both he and the midshipmen had reined in their excitement as the duties and schedules altered and the atmosphere grew weighty. Jared had almost immediately missed their earlier frivolity and wanted to restore at least some small measure of it.

The captain, a navigator beyond compare like most with John Company, had to employ the use of pilot sahibs, dispatched by the British Raj, to steer the vessel through the final stretch to port. The Hooghly was a treacherous section of water and quicksand that, like some demon shapeshifter, changed from day to day. And as such, telegraph lines between Diamond Harbor – the first point of entry to the river – and Calcutta exchanged information hourly. Such was the inconstant and lethal nature of that particular Ganges tributary. Once in port, Jared was dismayed to realize that a daily, morning chore of freeing the _Northfleet’s_ moorings of dead Hindus was added to the roster. The bumboats from port paid them no heed as they hawked their wares of exotic fruits and fabrics to the crew that remained onboard. Death, Jared realized, was a daily fact of life here and most seemed inured to it.

He could see that the midshipmen, especially those on their first voyage, were not unmoved by the sight and he had approached the captain with the idea to take the young men with him on a tour of the city that he had been planning for months. Captain Omundson had been surprised, but pleased with the offer. He didn’t allow the middies to run wild ashore; they were granted leave like the men. But, as with many captains of India ships, Omundson had an impressive home in Calcutta and needed to attend to it while docked. Soirees and other events were expected with his arrival and, as the captain was unwed, much of this fell on himself to address. So when an invitation by a respectable gentleman to chaperone his young charges was offered, he gratefully accepted.

Jared and the young gentlemen had made their way to Tank Square to pay homage to the Black Hole of Calcutta, as most British first-timers to the city often did. They were sorely disappointed that the place where a dungeon used to stand, a place where over one hundred and twenty souls had lost their lives, had nothing to note its significance. In truth, very little remained of the original Fort Williams there, either. What of it did had been repaired and reclaimed as a customs house in the years following the Nawab of Bengal’s fateful siege, while a newer and larger fort bearing the same name had been constructed nearby. Still, he and the lads removed their hats at the spot and offered a few moments of silent prayer for all those that had perished. Despite the high temperatures, Jared had shivered as he recollected John Holwell’s account of the nearly one hundred and fifty bodies pressed together in a near-windowless space no bigger than fourteen by eighteen feet, with no food or water, smothered by the heat for a single, deadly night. It was no surprise that only twenty some emerged the next morning still alive, the rest either crushed to death or suffocated. The bodies of the rest had been thrown in a ditch. Jared couldn’t think of a living fate much worse than captivity.

Wanting to push aside his morose thoughts (and that had probably been a factor in the delayed updating of his writing), Jared set his journal aside and stood up to address the captain.

“We’ve made good time since leaving Karrack, haven’t we?”

The captain, still scanning the horizon, stroked a rail along the starboard side. “That we have. She’s bluff-bowed and apple-cheeked,” he replied almost lovingly, “from the finest English oak and Malabar teak. I don’t think there’s anything that could stop her.” The _Northfleet_ had only been finished at the start of the year and this was her maiden voyage. The captain did not appear to find her wanting.

Moving up alongside the man and grasping the rail with a free hand (Jared might have found his sea legs a month in, but they weren’t that steady even in the calmest of seas), he pressed the captain further. “You wouldn’t trade her in for one of those more newfangled steamships? Wouldn’t one of those be even faster?” He couldn't hide the teasing in his voice.

The captain turned and raised a crooked eyebrow. Jared was hard-pressed not to laugh. _If looks could kill_ , he thought to himself.  “Speed isn’t everything, Mr. Padalecki.” He pointed back towards the bow of the ship and Jared leaned over to watch sleek, gray bodies undulate in the waves created by the front of the ship. Occasionally, the dolphins tagging along burst from the water only to dive right back in and repeat the whole process over and over, with no end in sight. Jared had never seen anything more free-spirited.

“Dolphins, albacore, tuna, porpoise…even the albatross can’t keep up with a steady 15-knotter for more than a few moments. There’s no steamship captain that can claim he’s seen a whale harpooned from his boat, watched whales mix with swordfish and killers in battle or who’s observed porpoises migrating in lines that reached from horizon to horizon.” The captain paused, his eyes grew distant. “What steamship crewman has ever witnessed the ice blink, the ripples of wind on sea, white water or the red patches? Who amongst them has ever seen the fiery sea?” He fell silent, lost in memories that Jared was dearly envious of.

“‘And I saw as it were a sea of glass mingled with fire’,” Jared quoted from the _King James Bible_.

Captain Omundson slowly grinned. “Revelations 15:2. Exactly, Mr. Padalecki, exactly. And speaking of the wonders of the seas…Mr. Kelly!”

It only took a matter of moments before the oldest midshipman, cap straight and uniform pristine, appeared before the captain. “Sir,” he acknowledged with a salute.

“Mr. Kelly, haul up the dredge-bags. Sort through them and set aside anything we haven’t studied yet. Have Mr. Ford go to the sickbay and collect my microscope from the surgeon and bring everything to my quarters before the next ship’s bell.”

“Very good, sir,” Mr. Kelly breathlessly answered, clearly excited to see what the bags might have caught. He spared a brief glance towards Jared and gave him a demure smile and a nod. Jared smiled back, once again momentarily taken with the sixteen-year-old. With his green eyes, dark blond hair and full mouth, he reminded Jared all too much of someone else. And with that recollection, his smiled faded. But the young middie hadn’t noticed his change in expression, already turning toward his task with barely restrained glee.

Like many H.E.I.C. captains, Omundson was an excellent naturalist and didn’t waste an opportunity to catalog the strange and wondrous species they came across on their voyage. His personal collection, spanning years, was impressive and Jared had spent many nights in the man’s company, eagerly soaking up knowledge like a thirsty plant in the desert. The captain made sure to instill his love of all things aquatic with the midshipmen, and Jared realized, not for the first time, what a lovely opportunity and education the lads received under his tutelage.

“Would you care to join us, Mr. Padalecki?” he offered amiably. And Jared was sorely tempted. He sucked in his lower lip, worrying the soft flesh.

“I should probably catch up on my own work,” he finally admitted. “I’ve put it off for too long and shouldn’t waste the light.” He gestured vaguely to the clear skies overhead.

The captain gave a quick jerk of his head. “Fair enough. I do hope you’ll join me for dinner this evening, then,” he invited. “I’m sure Mr. Ford would be happy to catch you up on anything you might have missed from our discussions this afternoon.”

“And you’d enjoy the chance to test the lad so soon, wouldn’t you? I’d be honored, Captain,” Jared smiled, tilting his head in acknowledgement. As he made his way back to his spot against the taffrail and settled himself once more, the captain paused, eyeing the narrow case beside him as it glinted in the sun.

“That’s quite lovely craftsmanship,” he remarked. “Exotic. Turkish, I suspect.”

Jared looked down at the box that had caught the captain’s attention. The oblong case, which housed his various pens, was made of dark steel. Its domed lid had an intricate design of cursive lines and flowers, all inlaid with gold. Jared briefly stroked it with his long, elegant fingers. “You’ve got a good eye, Captain. It was a gift from…a friend,” he finally said, stumbling slightly over the last part.

When no other information was forthcoming, the captain gave him a curt nod and walked toward the companionway to disappear below deck. Before too long, the ship’s bell rang the hour. Out of habit, Jared tugged on the fob of his watch and removed the timepiece from his waistcoat. But rather than verify the time once he’d opened it, his eye was caught on the item tucked into the inside of the cover. Jared stared at it for a short while with an unreadable expression on his face before snapping the case shut. Returning the watch to his pocket, he opened up his journal and retrieved his pen. The groan of wood faded into the background as he began to write.

*****

When evening fell, Jared freshened his face and changed into suitable dinner attire before making his way to the captain’s cuddy. Located beneath the poop deck at the stern of the ship, the cabin was the largest of them all and rightfully so. What Jared loved about it, aside from the tantalizing collection of preserved sea creatures, was the row of windows located above the rudder. Most of the cabins were small, with only a single, tiny opening if one was fortunate, and therefore felt quite closed off to Jared. But here he could watch the ocean and see the moonlight spill across the waves. And he felt he could breathe easier.

The captain’s table was immaculately set with stark white linens covering the scarred and nicked piece of furniture that, during daylight hours, held the captain’s charts and correspondence when not serving double-duty as a dissection board for whatever fish or crustacean had caught his interest. A pair of silver candelabra, along with a few lanterns swaying on hooks above, lit the quarters with a cheerful and ruddy glow. Along with Jared, two of the ship’s top officers, the surgeon and a midshipman were in attendance for the evening meal. Every night, a different midshipman was invited for dinner, and this evening’s rotation meant it was Jared’s favorite – Mr. Collin Ford.

Sneaking the young man a grin, which was readily returned, Jared wondered if the warm feelings the boy evoked in him were what his brother James had felt towards him over the years. More than once, Jared had daydreamed of being an older brother, longing to take care of a younger sibling as James had done for him, but that had never come to pass. His parents had only the two of them. So Jared had indulged his nurturing side with the youngest midshipmen almost from the onset of the voyage. More than one member of the crew had pointed out that they shared more than a passing resemblance to one another, with wayward, chestnut hair and deep dimples, and could have easily passed as brothers. They even seemed to share the same temperament. Of course, neither of them were angels by any stretch of the imagination and when Jared took the blame for a joint prank gone awry involving a young lady and her prized Pomeranian – with only Jared’s repeated assurances (and dimpled smiles) afterwards that the dog’s coat would grow out again by the time they reached India finally mollifying her – he had earned the boy’s undying gratitude.

The captain sat at the head of the table. Only missing his cap, he was still impeccably dressed and groomed. Once he determined everyone was present, he called out, “Singer!”

The white-haired steward entered the cabin, only slowed down by a slight limp. Jared didn’t know the origin of the injury, but suspected he’d received it when in the Royal Navy, serving under Captain Omundson. The men had known each other for years.

“Cap’n,” he acknowledged with a salute, before clasping his hands behind his back.

“We’ll start with an aperitif tonight. Some of the Madeira, I think,” he requested. When Singer paused for a moment to push his spectacles farther up his nose, the captain added more sternly, “No one’s been tapping the Admiral, have they?”

“Of course not, sir,” Singer answered quickly.

“Well then, we should have enough to spare tonight,” he dismissed.

Jared recollected that they had only stopped once on their outward bound voyage and that was at Funchal, Madeira where they had loaded some sixty pipes of wine onboard. The logic was that by collecting the dry wine at the beginning of their trip, it allowed for extra time to mature before the ship’s eventual return to London. But Jared hadn’t a clue what Omundson had meant by “tapping the Admiral”. And, as if the man was a mind reader, the captain explained.

“Having all that wine below deck for the duration is somewhat of a temptation for the crew,” he started, flicking a quick gaze around the room as some of the officers chuckled knowingly. “And it’s not unheard of for some cunning, old fore-bowlineman to drill a hole in one or two, stick in a goose quill and sample the goods. That, my dear Mr. Padalecki, is known as ‘tapping the Admiral’.”

Jared chuckled. “I can see how that could prove problematic, losing part of the shipment to ‘evaporation’ as it were.”

“It’s really become a bit of a game,” First Mate Hartley chimed in. The newly appointed blond-haired, brown-eyed officer continued, “Almost more of a tradition to see if someone can slip past the captain and pull the wool over his eyes.”

There were more good-natured guffaws exchanged as Singer returned with a large, glass bottle nearly full to the rim. He lowered it in front of the captain, for his obvious inspection. At the commander’s tacit approval, Singer lifted the jug and made his way around the table, filling everyone’s crystal glass, including Mr. Ford’s. Although he was the youngest middie at the tender age or twelve, he was entitled to wine. In fact, all the mids were. When Singer went to pour Jared a glass, he raised a hand to stop the steward.

“Not one of those teetotalers, are you, Mr. Padalecki?” the ship’s surgeon, Dr. Manners, asked him quietly.

“I’m hardly a member of Mr. Livesey’s Temperance Society,” Jared began. “I’m just a bit of a lightweight and with the winds picking up…” he trailed off, somewhat embarrassed to admit to a roomful of sailing men that he still struggled with seasickness in rougher waters.

“In small amounts, it’s not uncommon for spirits to settle the nerves and the stomach,” the soft-spoken doctor added in an assuring manner at almost the exact moment as the ship took a sudden dip. Jared nodded vigorously for Singer to fill his glass and the rest of the men hooted.

“Mr. Padalecki’s health,” the captain raised his glass in a toast and the table followed suit.

A chorus of “Mr. Padalecki” echoed in his ear as he sipped the dry wine gingerly. Jared hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d labeled himself a “lightweight” – alcohol travelled rather quickly to his head and he had no desire to embarrass himself with anything less than seemly behavior.

“It’s quite delicious,” he admitted. “I should imagine it will be even finer after you return to London.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Hartley remarked. “You won’t be there to appreciate it with us, will you?”

“While you all will be sailing back along the coast of Africa, I’ll be making a rather ridiculous carriage trek through the deserts of Egypt and up the Nile on a paddle steamer to catch a P&O Navigation Company steamer back to London. All in all, it will shave nearly two months off my return home,” Jared explained.

Although he looked somewhat sad, Collin pressed on. “I’ll wager you must be a bit eager to return to England, aye?”

Jared took another sip of the wine to fortify him. He didn’t have the heart to admit to the young mid that there was nothing about returning to his parents that excited him in the least, especially when he knew the lad was yearning for hearth and home himself. “Well,” he drawled, “I am interested in having the chance to steal away a few days in Cairo. I’ve got a small excursion planned to take in the Pyramids and that enigmatic sphynx, which Mr. Giovanni Battista Caviglia partially excavated in 1817.”

“And that’s it?” Mr. Hartley teased.

“I suppose Mr. Dickens should be finished with _Bleak House_ by then. He had only gotten as far as the eleventh installment before I left. I’d like to read how that turned.” He grinned as the captain groaned.

“Not Dickens,” Omundson sighed as Singer returned to the table with a large platter. In the center, a gelatinous square comprised of chunks of pork was surrounded by a selection of vegetables and greens. The meat from the animal’s head had been packed away in a wine and vinegar solution for nearly a fortnight so that it could properly congeal and pickle. Soused hog’s face was a particular favorite of the captain’s and it wasn’t the first time they’d eaten it. Jared hid his shudder and took another swallow of his drink. It was probably decidedly un-English of him, but he missed the spicy curries he had indulged in while visiting Calcutta. And it didn’t rest easy with Jared that he had likely passed by and even talked to their meal not a month prior on deck, where the pig pens were kept by the coops.

“Not a fan then, Captain?” Jared hoped to distract him enough so the sharp-eyed man wouldn’t notice he was pushing his food around the bone china plate, trying to hide the congealed meat under some onions and greens.

Pausing from his meal, Captain Omundson regarded Jared closely. “I find much of his work to be maudlin and manipulative, to be honest.”

Enjoying his Madeira and feeling a pleasant flush rising to his cheeks, Jared quipped, “Surely you were moved by little Nell’s sad fate in _The Old Curiosity Shop_?”

Blotting his lips with his napkin deliberately, the captain answered, “I think Mr. Wilde and I shared the same opinion. It was hard not to burst into tears,” and he paused dramatically. Jared’s smile grew, sure he was about to be vindicated. “Tears of laughter, that is,” Omundson added wickedly. There were chuckles all around.

“You’re a hard-hearted man, Captain,” Jared berated him good-naturedly.

“I remember how frantic the Yanks were when we reached port in New York City that one year,” Dr. Manners recollected, stroking his chin. “They were shouting from the docks ‘Does little Nell live?’ at every ship that had arrived from Liverpool.”

“I quite enjoyed _A Christmas Carol_ ,” Collin offered quietly.

“As did I,” Jared agreed. “In fact, I think it’s my favorite of his. What do you have to say to that, Captain?” he challenged, the wine making him bold.

“I say ‘bah humbug’!” the captain declared with a thump of his fist on the table, rattling the dishes. And everyone chortled. Jared shook his head and grinned.

Placing his napkin on the table, and nodding to Singer to clear the plates, he caught Jared’s eye and replied, “In all seriousness, for so obviously being a statement regarding the more deplorable work conditions of those less fortunate in our society and emphasizing the Christmas spirit towards the destitute, I found it hypocritical that he published it himself on expensive, gilt edged papers with a cloth binding. The cost was too prohibitive for the poor, working man to even afford it.”

“Is that all you took away from it, sir?” Jared wondered, barely noticing when Singer refilled his glass. As he made to take another drink, Hartley quipped, “Careful now or the hog’s face won’t be the only thing that’s soused.” Jared blushed as the men ribbed each other.

“Again, I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you, Mr. Padalecki,” the captain eventually confessed. “I still felt the story manipulative and overly nostalgic.” Leaning back in his chair, he twirled one end of his moustache thoughtfully. “What about it appealed to you?”

“I think the idea of redemption,” Jared admitted. “That a person could make a single, grievous error or more in his life and still redeem himself before it was too late.”

“There was that,” the captain agreed grudgingly. “Hard not to find the thought appealing when there is no one amongst us without sin. And you, Mr. Ford? Was it the presents or the plum pudding that caught your fancy?”

The young boy smirked and ducked his head. “I liked the ghosts.”

The men laughed, but not unkindly. “England is rather full of them,” the captain agreed. “And they were fairly terrifying.”

Colin bobbed his head up and down. “All the clanking of chains and Marley’s jaw falling to his chest when he removed his bandages.” The lad shivered. “I love to be frightened,” he confessed shyly.

“Don’t let Mr. Kelly find that out about you,” Jared warned him, “or I suspect you’ll come to regret it.”

Eyes wide when he realized what type of ammunition he might be handing over to his comrade in arms, Collin agreed readily. “Not a word.”

Jared tapped a finger to the side of his nose and nodded knowingly.

The last of the meal passed uneventfully. Despite the dulling effect of the alcohol, Jared still noticed the increased roll and sway of the ship. Dessert, a sweet pudding, was a quick affair after the officer of the second dog watch came to share a few words with the captain.

“Well, lads, it looks like we’ll need to divert to Doheh. It appears we didn’t outrun the Barih Thorayya after all,” Omundson told them. “Blasted schedule,” he muttered and Jared felt his face heat with shame. “Mr. Hartley, set a course of south by southwest to adjust for that.”

The young officer saluted, “Aye, sir. South by southwest,” he repeated as he excused himself from the table and left the cabin.

Since the crews’ day started at 5AM, the remaining officers bid each other a “good evening” soon after and left as the steward and his assistant cleared away the remains of the meal. Jared started to rise as the captain selected a cheroot from a silver box Singer had placed nearby.

“Cigar?” he offered amiably, sliding the cheroots in his direction.

“No, thank you,” Jared declined, meaning to call it a night.

Leaning towards the candelabrum, the captain lit his smoke carefully and motioned for Jared to stay seated. “A man of few vices. Finish your wine, if you’d like.”

Jared fiddled with his half-full glass, tracing the base of the goblet with his forefinger. “So what is the Barih Thorayya exactly?”

Leaning back in his chair, Omundson puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. “It’s the second of the three summer shamals that plague this region. They’re northwesterly winds,” he elaborated when he caught Jared’s frown. “We missed ‘the driller’, but couldn’t outrun the ‘devourer’.”

“That sounds rather wicked,” Jared admitted.

“Doesn’t it though?” the captain agreed. “The second wind can be quite fierce and the folklore surrounding it promises that the wind will eat ships whole. Should last less than a week, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, so we’ll dock at Doheh for the duration. If we weren’t on your father’s damned schedule, this wouldn’t have been an issue. And I wouldn’t have had to fight my way down the coast of Africa without favorable trade winds at my back, either.”

Jared had never seen the man lose his composure before and wondered if the meal and the wine had loosened his tongue somewhat. He fussed nervously with his cravat before offering, “It’s probably my fault he foisted it upon you. My being here at all was, as you know, his reward to me for past actions.”

The captain didn’t say a word, but raised a crooked eyebrow.

“I think this all was to make sure I’d be back in England in time to start college by autumn,” he explained. "My prize was only meant to last so long."

Omundson smirked. “I think,” he opined, “that he did it to be ahead of the Government of India Act of this year. If it doesn’t go favorably for the H.E.I.C., directors like your father won’t have nearly the power they did.”

“So this is all a last hurrah for the both of us?” Jared asked.

“No need to look so glum, Jared,” Omundson replied, slipping into the more comfortable, less formal language they shared when alone.

Jared sighed and stood up, abandoning his wine. “Timothy, he’s sending me off to the East India College in Hertfordshire.”

Moving to join him, Omundson offered, “It’s not a bad writing college.”

Jared whirled around and almost overbalanced if not for the quick, steadying hand of the captain on his shoulder. “It’s a school to teach me how to be a clerk in the Honorable East India Company and nothing more.” He tugged his coat straight and moved carefully over to the padded bench below the stern windows. He was slightly embarrassed by his nearly childish outburst and didn’t want to compound matters by falling flat on his face, so he sat himself down. The growing creaks of the ship were testament enough to the fact that the wind was increasing. He lifted one leg, bent at the knee, onto the bench and stared out into the darkness.

“Jared,” Timothy encouraged him as he sat down on the bench as well. “You’re a smart lad, not without means. You don’t have to go there. You could strike out on your own, make your own future.”

Jared turned and rested his chin on his raised knee to regard the captain. “Our family already has one rebel. I’m the ‘good son’.”

Timothy blew out a small cloud of smoke from his cigar as he exhaled. “Your brother James,” he said knowingly.

Jared smiled, although it was small and wistful. “Dr. Padalecki by now, I should imagine.”

“Your parents disowned him?” Timothy asked gently.

“Close enough. That leaves me to carry on the family name and tradition,” he sighed and let his gaze wander back to the rolling sea. The moonlight was scattered and chaotic now, thanks to the stronger winds.

“Tradition can be a heavy weight to bear,” the captain acknowledged.

“I don’t begrudge him a thing,” Jared was quick to add. “I’m truly glad for him. Truly. As for myself, I suppose this is atonement.”

Timothy cocked his head, but didn’t say a word.

Jared’s smile faded. “I’ve made mistakes, Timothy. Now I have to pay for them.” And part of Jared wanted to confide and share his thoughts with the man beside him. But, in the back of his mind, he recognized Timothy was, in the end, an employee of his father and he could never quite be certain what might be reported back.

“We all have our sins, as you said. I’m no different from the next man,” he finally added. “Now, tell me about Doheh. If we’re to be there for a few days, I think I’d like to try and take in what sights I can.”

Timothy seemed about to question him further, but reined back, appearing to recognize the change of topic and tone for what it was. “There’s not too much to the place. A handful of buildings and inland, there’s desert stretching as far as the eye can see. Probably not even worth disembarking for, truth be told.”

“I’m sure there’s something. I’ll see about arranging a short tour of the desert, if nothing else,” Jared offered.

“There’s really nothing of worth, Jared,” Timothy told him, placing a firm hand on his knee.

Jared grew earnest. “I’ll never have the life you’ve led, Timothy,” he declared fervently. “This is all I’ll ever have and I want to make the most of it.”

He patted the older man’s hand before standing to leave. “Thank you for an excellent meal, sir.” He bowed slightly before marching carefully across the swaying floor. Near the cabin door, Jared turned back briefly.

“I want to make memories that will last me a lifetime,” he added. “Surely you can understand that. Goodnight, Captain.” And he shut the door quietly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two items:
> 
> 1\. I have used names of places as they were referred to at the time by both the people that lived there and those who only visited (e.g. Calcutta for Kolkata, Karrack for Kharg and Doheh for Doha).
> 
> 2\. It wasn't until after 1910 that scholars began to question Holwell's account of the events of June 1756 and the exact number of people who perished in the dungeon known as the Black Hole. So Jared is only reciting facts that in 1853 were still considered gospel.


	2. Chapter 2

 

_ _

 

Jared checked the cabin once more to make certain he had collected everything he might need and thought not for the first time how wonderful it would be to walk on sturdy land again and smell something other than damp wood. Even the sway of the anchored ship proved to be too much at times; the brief respite would do him good. Since he only planned to be gone no longer than four days, he decided he’d make do with the one cotton suit he was wearing and a single, extra shirt for alternate days. He understood there was a bath house in the town and he would send a man to fetch a fresh change of clothes from the ship when he had returned from his sojourn, so as to not appear too unkempt to passengers and crew. Aside from the garment, he tucked in his travel cutlery set, journal and pen box. With a rueful grin, he slipped a red cloth bound book into the sack as well. And, at the last moment, he managed to fold up his portfolio containing his pertinent travel documentation and letters of reference to tuck inside. One could never be too careful, he supposed. When he had everything in order, he rolled the tanned-leather portmanteau up and cinched the three leather straps shut tight. The bag – shaped like a bedroll with a handle at one end – was easy to transport and pack; it was the sensible choice for what he hoped to arrange. He slung it over his shoulder and eagerly made his way out.

Once he was above deck, he blinked at the bright sunlight. The shamal the captain had talked about hadn’t done much more as of yet than bring in some cooler air, which was much appreciated. Even with his lighter clothing, the heat was like a force pressing down on him now that they were mostly stationary. But even that wouldn’t dissuade him from his goal. Fitting his top hat firmly upon his head, he hitched his bag higher and tried to gather his bearings. Near the larboard stern he caught sight of Captain Omundson, deep in discussion with a dark-skinned and bearded man clearly not a member of the crew or passengers. Shorter than the captain, the stranger was dressed from head to toe in a variety of robes and cloth that billowed slightly in the breeze. He had material tied carefully about his head, in a fashion Jared was not entirely unfamiliar with. He also wore a long tunic of light-colored linen that reached his feet. The man, more than likely a Qataris local, had on trousers of a similar fabric and wore a darker robe about his shoulders. The two were in an animated discussion, involving much waving of hands, and raised voices. As he drew nearer, Jared was able to at least identify the lyrical sound of the Arabic language. He himself understood a few select words and phrases, but was amazed to discover the captain was obviously fluent, judging by the way the words tripped off his tongue.

When he was alongside the men, the captain broke off his conversation and turned to Jared. “Are you certain you want to do this, Mr. Padalecki?”

Jared was somewhat startled at the curtness of the question, without any pleasantries or formalities. He knew the man was not fond of the idea of Jared’s excursion, but the curtness was surprising. “And good morning to you, sir,” he replied evenly.

Omundson rolled his eyes. “To you as well. Forgive my abruptness, but I think you are going to be disappointed with the venture you’ve planned and can’t help but feel the need to intervene.”

Jared sighed. “I thought I’d made myself plain to you last night, Captain. I’m eager to take in whatever sights I can.”

“I wanted to make sure.” He turned and looked at the shore. “That,” he gestured toward land, “is about what you can expect to see for the next four days, sir.”

Jared followed the stretch of his arm and took in the view from where they were anchored. To call Doheh a “port” was perhaps too generous a word for the locale; even Jared could admit to that. As he scanned the shore, he saw it was terribly flat. It was definitely not like Calcutta, which bustled with activity and people, not to mention populated by a variety of grand buildings, many in the Victorian style. To the north shore, he could make out the single tower of the Al Suwaidi Fort. Beyond that, the handful of shorter buildings he observed were few and far between and colored to match the desert, so nothing really stood apart. The only thing that broke up the monotony was the shoreline itself, which was littered with huge, black boats. Even from where Jared was standing, he could make out strange, grooved notches on the dhows and made a mental note to ask about it at some point. If Jared was completely honest with himself, there was nothing about the horizon that screamed adventure. But, then again, nothing about the shore was like anything he had ever seen before.

_Or would ever see again_ , a small voice reminded him. That right there was reason enough.

Jared stood tall and adjusted the bag across his shoulder. “It will do nicely then,” he replied amiably and noticed the man next to the captain smile.

It almost seemed like a trick of the eye, but Jared would later swear the captain’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Very well then. If you’re bound and determined to avail yourself of a small excursion, I hope you’ll pardon me for taking the liberty of securing your guide for you and working out a reasonable rate.” The captain gestured to the robed man. With his dark skin and beard, the man’s age was a mystery to Jared. “This is Ibrahim Al-Kindi.”

The aforementioned man bowed his head slightly and touched his mouth and then forehead in rapid succession, before sweeping his right hand away. “Peace be upon you,” he told Jared in a deep voice, the slight British lilt to the words unmistakable.

Jared closely mimicked the abbreviated salaam and replied, “Upon you be peace.”

Although it was mostly hidden behind his manicured moustache and long beard, Ibrahim’s smile was still evident. Even the captain seemed startled that Jared was familiar with the greeting and proper response. But he recovered himself soon enough. “Ibrahim and I go back many years, don’t we?” he asked the Arab, although it was purely a rhetorical question.

“More years than either of us would dare admit,” Ibrahim shot back, with a glint of what Jared was sure was mischief in his dark, flashing eyes; Jared liked the man already. “I understand you would like to see some of our land, no?” he asked Jared.

“I would very much like to. As much as possible within the time available,” and with that, Jared looked toward the captain to confirm just how much time that would be.

“I’ve explained very clearly to Ibrahim that I want you returned in four days, Mr. Padalecki, and not a day late.” He glared at his foreign acquaintance and the brown-skinned man nodded solemnly, as though making a wordless pledge.

“Since you’ve arranged such a competent guide,” Jared began, knowing that if the captain trusted the man, then he could as well, “would you allow me to take a few of the midshipmen with me? I’m sure they would benefit from some first-hand experience –”

“No,” the captain interrupted. “I won’t be granting any shore leave during our brief hiatus here in Doheh. There is enough ship’s business to keep all hands busy and I’d rather avoid the…confusion of too many men in uniform within the town,” he finished rather mysteriously, raising his voice so that Colin and Brock – loitering not ten feet away – could hear him clear as a bell. Jared watched the lads scurry off and was sorely disappointed they wouldn’t be allowed to join him. But he also wouldn’t let the opportunity to see the countryside, such as it was, escape him, either. He was sure the boys would have ample opportunities again in their futures; his, not likely.

“Of course, Captain. I meant no disrespect,” he added contritely, fearful he may have overstepped his boundaries.

“It was a generous offer, Mr. Padalecki. But I do have a ship to run,” Omundson told him. Dismissing the moment, he continued, “Let’s get a longboat lowered and you can be off.”

With a minimum of awkwardness, Jared managed to settle himself aboard the small boat as it was lowered to the water. Ibrahim was quite clearly accustomed to tiny vessels and looked at ease on the narrow plank bench, clasping his robe in such a way as to keep it above the minute amount of water sloshing about at the bottom of the boat.

As a crewman rowed toward shore, the captain called out to them, “Four days and not a minute longer!”

Jared had a sneaking suspicion the naval man was not addressing him, but he raised his hand in a salute of acknowledgement at any rate. Better to be safe than appear rude. He already felt as though he might be “skating on thin ice”, as it were, with the man. No need to exacerbate the situation.

When they were aground a short time later, Jared bid the crewman farewell and followed Ibrahim carefully along the shoreline. The damp sand pulled at his boots and each step he made was followed by a wet, sucking sound. He was glad he hadn’t worn his favorite shoes. And though it was unsteady going, he was even more glad the ground beneath him was no longer moving. When they marched past the large, black boats, Jared couldn’t help but voice his earlier curiosity.

“Excuse me,” he began. When Ibrahim stopped and turned around, he continued, “but what was the cause of these grooved edges every few feet?” And Jared trailed his free hand along the closest boat, to show his guide what he meant, in case his turn of phrase or choice of wording wasn’t understandable. Ibrahim seemed very comfortable with the English language, fortunately for Jared, but that didn’t guarantee he was fluent.

The robed man scrutinized the area Jared was referring to and smiled. “Ah, that? That is where the divers’ cords are let down.”

“Divers?” Jared wondered.

“Yes, the men who dive for pearls from these Sambuks. The diver always has a rope tied around his stomach…no, that’s not correct,” and he motioned towards his middle.

“His waist?” Jared offered.

“Yes,” Ibrahim nodded, “his waist. The diver’s companions, who stay on the boat, pull him up when it is time and those marks are from that.”

“What do they dive for? Fish?”

“No, for pearls. It is hard work,” he added, probably noticing Jared’s genuine interest. “He must go from his home for many months at a time. And the waters are dangerous. Full of sharks and swordfish and…I don’t know the word for it in English, but these creatures that are soft and pale, like ghosts, and sting terribly. The man places a bone and wood clip on his nose, grabs a rock and jumps in. He might stay under the water for two minutes, sawing off the oysters from the rocks and filling his bag. When he’s done, he tugs on the rope and his friends pull him up.”

Jared stood with wide eyes. “And how many times does he dive in a day?”

Ibrahim shrugged. “Maybe sixty. Maybe a hundred. Whatever it takes.”

Jared whistled incredulously. “That must be hard on them and their bodies.”

Ibrahim nodded. “Oh, yes. Sometimes they are plagued by the djinn and when they are pulled up, grab at their ears or see things that aren’t there or shake in terrible fits.”

“What do you do for them when they are afflicted like that?”

“The others will cover the diver with one of the –” and he motioned to the sails lashed to the mast.

“The canvases?” Jared offered.

“Yes, the canvases. And then they will sit on him and read from our holy book until he is better,” he finished.

“Does that work?” And Jared tried to hide his disbelief in the folk cure for something that was probably related to the weight of the water bearing down on the diver, or maybe some mishap with a deadly or poisonous sea creature or just the sheer number of times the poor man went up and down in a day. He recalled that when Sir Charles Pasley was commissioned to recover what he could and destroy what remained of the sunken _HMS Royal George_ off Portsmouth, the naval man noticed men who had made repeated dives suffered from what he described as “attacks of rheumatism and cold”. The symptoms were too similar to have been a coincidence, but it was also not his place to disagree with his guide. Maybe later, over a cup of tea, he might be able to broach the subject again and share his insights. A mystery like this, which was most likely medical in nature, would fascinate his older brother to no end. Jared would have to remember to tell him all about it when he returned.

“You’ve come at our busiest time for diving,” Ibrahim continued, picking his way deliberately along the beach towards the town, holding his robes higher. “This is the Ghaus Al Kebir, which started last month and ends in September. The Bahrainis kept us from the waters last year, so there is much to make up. Some three hundred boats and six thousand men will hunt for pearls. See?” he motioned to the north.

Jared followed the direction and spotted one of the Sambuks several hundred feet out. Jared was able to make out at least twenty men crammed on the dhow, with another five bobbing in the water. He looked and then looked again, blinking his eyes in disbelief. A few of the men who weren’t in the water must have been divers, because, unlike Ibrahim, they wore almost nothing at all. A scrap of cloth that covered no more than a diaper might an infant and nothing else. Momentarily shocked, Jared eventually dropped his gaze and felt his cheeks redden at the sight of the darkly tanned and muscled men as they worked practically naked under the burning sun. His escort took no notice of his embarrassment and hurried along.

Turning his attention safely back towards Doheh, Jared saw that it was partially walled round. The town appeared to run one thousand yards along the beach. “That,” Ibrahim explained, pointing towards a large, round tower with a flagstaff that was located in the center of the buildings, “is part of the local Sheikh’s house.” And Jared could see a short ways to the west was a bight, where boats could be hauled up and repaired.

“Come,” the man urged Jared as they left the beach and entered Doheh proper. Soon enough, the smell of salt and sea was burned away under the unrelenting sun. Instead, dust and sand filled his senses.

The buildings, except for the tower, were not more than a single story tall and mostly box-like. The exteriors appeared to be completely plastered over with mud, so one couldn’t tell where the streets ended and the houses began. The doors and few window shutters he spied were wooden. There were large, rough-cut timbers set up high into the walls and protruding out into the streets a good three or four feet, for what purpose Jared hadn’t a clue. The rooves were more of those beams – almost certainly mangrove given the geography – and lashed together with twine.

Jared was surprised, given the early hour, by the number of people – all men – that he came across in the streets. At almost six and a half feet tall, made taller by his top hat and more noticeable by his foreign garb, he naturally stood out and felt more than one pair of eyes appraising him. The glances were furtive and quick, but something about them filled Jared with unease in a way he hadn’t felt in Calcutta. Unconsciously, he shifted his bag closer, his guide mistaking the gesture for one of discomfort.

“Please, allow me,” he offered, but Jared gently rebuffed him.

“It’s not necessary,” he assured his companion. “I’ve got it.”

“It is not much farther,” Ibrahim explained, as he moved swiftly through the narrow, winding paths, effortlessly passing through the stream of humanity that flowed around them. Glancing down one alleyway, Jared spied a small market, with row upon row of stalls. They were piled high with dates and fish, while men clamored and argued. Even without knowing much Arabic, Jared was certain the noise was about price. Haggling was rather universal, after all. Catching up to his escort, Jared felt like he was in the Labyrinth without the benefit of Ariadne’s ball of thread. The flat topped, cube-shaped buildings blended with the dust and heat haze, making it difficult to tell where the sky began. And he was certain if the town were larger, he would be well and truly lost without his guide.

As they turned down an even narrower, less crowded street, Jared was mesmerized by a sudden splash of color draped above him, partially shading him from the unblinking sun. Slung across several of the beams that stuck out of the walls were heaps of yarns dyed in jeweled hues. He stopped to look up at the vibrant cobwebs, strands of deep maroon, sapphire and a vibrant amethyst. He craned his head back and turned round and round.

His guide, noticing Jared had stopped, turned and stood beside him. “For centuries, we were known for that color,” he said as he pointed to the deep purple.

“The color of royalty since the Romans at the very least,” Jared murmured.

“Yes, just so. Reserved only for the most important. And that one,” he indicated the maroon, which reminded Jared of nothing so much as dried blood, “comes about when dipped many times in the purple.”

“How do you make the color?” Jared asked him.

“There are these small snails that you find in the waters off of Jazirat Bin Ghannam. The island is not too far from here and we can visit it if you like. When you anger the snails, they release a cloud of the color. And we collect that very carefully.”

Jared considered the information. Taking another look at the large mass of threads, he finally said, “Then those poor snails must be furious by now.”

Ibrahim considered his words and then laughed, a short bark of delight, before slapping Jared on his shoulder. “Very, very angry little creatures indeed,” he agreed and Jared smiled, dimples framing his mouth.

“Come,” the other man urged. “We’re almost there.”

A few more twists and turns and Jared found himself free of the maze-like town. A small group of camels and men loitered near a small well just outside of the wall. Ibrahim ushered Jared over and the young Englishman couldn’t help but be amazed at the animals as they grazed on the pitiful few grasses that had fought their way through the dry, brittle dirt. He’d seen drawings of them, mostly in the zoological books within his father’s extensive library, but to see them in person was something else indeed.

Jared guessed that they were roughly as tall as him at the shoulder, with the single hump on their back probably ten feet up at least. Their color was honey brown, like the Jersey cows back home. And their hooves wide and splayed, looking awkward to his untrained eye, not like those of a horse. He found himself bending down to get a closer look at the one who was greedily munching away at the parched earth. Maybe Jared was too quick, or maybe his top hat was too foreign, but the animal startled. It raised its head and slowly whipped it to one side and as it did so, a rather foul, green-tinged discharge landed with a wet splat against Jared’s off-white waistcoat. Both he and the creature regarded one another warily, uncertain who was more surprised. The men, including Ibrahim, bore silent witness to it all.

Jared glanced down at his stained waistcoat and slowly pulled out a fine handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabbed at the spot rather ineffectually. The camel, apparently no longer feeling threatened, chewed whatever was still in its mouth and batted its ridiculously long and thick eyelashes at Jared disinterestedly. For his part, Jared was rather mesmerized at the way the animal’s fuzzy, upper lip was split at the center and each part moved independently of the other. He was dying to know what its hide felt like, but curbed his inquisitiveness for the moment. He did only have the one suit and who knew what else it might do in retaliation?

Still blotting the mess, he finally told the beast, “That was rather a rush to judgement, don’t you think?” as he indicated his marked clothing. “I’m really not that bad of a fellow once you get to know me.” And he grinned cheekily, still studying the camel intently.

He heard Ibrahim mutter something in Arabic to the other men as he gestured to Jared, and they all laughed, finally moving closer, apparently relieved the Englishman wouldn’t pitch a fit over the ruined clothing.

Ibrahim made as if to assist Jared, but he declined politely. “If this is the worst that befalls me on my trip, I’ll have nothing to complain about,” he explained with a smirk. “Besides, it was entirely my fault for startling the poor thing.”

Slapping the camel on its shoulder, Ibrahim laughed. “Fayyad can be temperamental at times. But he is a good camel.”

Slowly reaching out to stroke the animal’s flank as well, Jared inquired about the name. “Does ‘Fayyad’ mean something in particular?”

Ibrahim tilted his head for a moment, clearly searching for a word. “I think the closest in English would be ‘overflowing’ or ‘giving’.”

Jared chuckled as he looked at the green smear on his chest. “Oh, he’s overflowing with something; that’s a certainty.”

Ibrahim leaned over his shoulder and muttered to the man closest to him and they exchanged another laugh. Turning to face Jared, he offered, “Excuse my rudeness. This one here is Kadeem, one of my oldest sons.” And he motioned for the younger man to stand beside him. Kadeem offered Jared the same shortened salaam as his father, which Jared returned equally as before. The younger Qataris eyes widened and so did his smile. Ibrahim spoke briefly to him with a nod.

“Again, my apologies. It’s too simple to fall back to Arabic. I was telling him you didn’t seem to be a stranger to some of our ways. My son’s English is not as strong as mine, but he does know some and we will try to only speak that for now.” Jared was about to tell him it was unnecessary, since he was the stranger, but Ibrahim cut him off with a sharp look to Kadeem. “After all, how will he learn if he never practices?”

The younger man, who was beardless, glanced to the ground before looking back up. “As always, my father is correct.” His voice was pitched higher than Ibrahim’s, but was pleasing to the ear.

“Maybe we could teach each other?” Jared suggested. “I know only a smattering,” and he held up his hand with his thumb and forefinger only an inch apart to illustrate the meaning, “of Arabic and would be grateful for the chance to learn more.” Kadeem’s grin was infectious and Jared returned it.

Ibrahim introduced the other two men to him as cousins who spoke no English. But between their nods and smiles, Jared was confident they would be able to understand one another enough to manage. One of the cousins relieved him of his portmanteau and ushered him towards the camels, which grunted and bleated as they chewed, their rope-like tails swishing absently at the flies that buzzed around them. Now that the beasts didn’t seem offended by his presence, Jared took a moment to study them and their trappings more closely.

There was the same number of animals as men. All of them had elaborate saddles, save for one. The lone oddity wore something much, much different. The saddle started out at the bottom looking identical to the others, but varied greatly at the top. It had a small platform, no bigger than four feet by five, which rested perpendicular to where a saddle seat was expected. A railing about ten inches high wrapped completely around its circumference. Furthermore, there was cloth draped above some unseen framework, enclosing the whole thing like a small tent. The other camels had rather ornate and splendid saddles. Jared admired the craftsmanship involved. They were built up, so that the uppermost part where one would sit lay in a flat line over the beast’s single hump. Dozens of colorful and ornately woven trappings hung down from both sides of the saddle nearly to the creature’s knees. Jared imagined they must have looked magnificent when the camel ran. There didn’t appear to be any stirrups. In fact, the only thing that looked familiar to the saddles Jared was familiar with was the pommel. He was definitely wondering how one mounted such a thing when Ibrahim spoke up.

“We should start off while it is still cool.”

Jared nodded, but wiped discreetly at his brow. If this was cool, he felt some trepidation what hot might be like. But it was an integral part of the grand adventure and the men beside him could manage and so would he.

Ibrahim sort of clucked at the camel with the special saddle and Jared had a sinking feeling that was his mount. The beast folded first its front legs and then its rear ones under it and gracefully sank to the ground. It was suddenly very apparent how one climbed aboard, as it were.

“This is Basinah. Her name means ‘baby cat’,” he told Jared, anticipating the Englishman’s curiosity. “My youngest daughter was there when she was born and named her. I tried to tell her it wasn’t one, but…” and he raised his hands helplessly with a smile.

The young man snorted. Taller than most of the men gathered around him by a head at least, and he got the camel named “kitten”. Shrugging, he thought to himself, “Well, she probably won’t spit at me.” Climbing onto the platform went slightly more smoothly than his maneuvering on the longboat. The cousin holding his bag handed it back to Jared and he barely had time to situate himself cross-legged before Kitten was rising back up.

Ibrahim clucked at his own camel and mounted smoothly. He grabbed at the reins of Jared’s animal to guide it as well. “We will make our way southeast, following the shore for a bit until we break for the midday sun. We should be by the salt marshes then.”

Jared parted the material of his enclosure to nod at the man. Although he couldn’t see the others behind him, he could hear them following. With a curt command and a snap of his crop, Ibrahim urged his ride to move briskly and that, by necessity, spurred Jared’s on as well to something akin to a horse’s trot. Jared found the motion not unfamiliar and swayed to and fro. When he studied his guide’s animal, he saw that unlike a horse, which would lift each diagonal pair of legs alternately, the camel moved both legs on the same side together. That gait produced an effect not unlike being on a ship.

Seeing the vast desert before him, like a sea of sand, Jared rocked from side to side and couldn’t help but laugh. Not a drop of water beneath him and he was seasick again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All photographs in this section, as well as the chapter heading from chapter one, are in the public domain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very talented [drawgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/drawgirl/pseuds/drawgirl) was inspired to create an additional drawing for Jared's sketchbook of the desert hyacinth. The lovely piece can be seen [here](http://36.media.tumblr.com/573281db624fb03af340ba44cb6b8201/tumblr_o0m12c2gkP1s34qbwo1_500.jpg).

_ _

 

True to Ibrahim’s word, the small caravan arrived at what he had called the _sabkhas_ by midday. To say that Jared was grateful to climb out of his portable tent was an understatement. He understood the trappings were meant for his benefit; the covering provided shelter from the sun that beat down relentlessly upon them and he could have even reclined – albeit awkwardly – if the desire had struck. But with the dark walls pressed too close against him, he’d only felt uncomfortable and although he knew he could breathe without impediment, Jared had spent the four hour ride hunched forward, hands clasped on the railing, and with his head firmly stuck outside the split in the fabric.

The desert stretched out before him, pale yellow and flat, almost all color burnt away. He had expected more sand than the scrub and rubble the camels had effortlessly maneuvered over. Ibrahim had assured him there would be sand aplenty the farther south they trekked. The sand dunes, he had explained, _walked_ as the winds blew. And the winds blew from the north to the south without fail, taking the dunes with them. To his left, the coast had stayed more or less in his sight, but Jared’s world had devolved to shades of cornflower and parchment. The air, hot and unyielding, reminded him of someone…someone it did no good to think of and yet he couldn’t help but dwell on that restless spirit, who flitted about in his memories and haunted his dreams. He dabbed unconsciously at his forehead, blotting the sweat that slowly seeped out.

When they had arrived at the beginning of the salt flats – the sabkhas – the caravan stopped and Jared blessedly made his escape from his mount. Stretching his long legs, trying not to stumble like the newborn colt his brother teasingly called him since his last growth spurt, he observed as the men efficiently set up a lean-to and Kadeem cleared out an area as a fire pit. As Ibrahim directed one of the cousins, pointing to some of the firewood tied to Fayyad, Jared took a moment to collect his own supplies. From his portmanteau, he recovered his journal and extracted a few pencils from his metal case.

“We will have some coffee and a light meal ready in an hour or so,” Ibrahim informed Jared as he removed his saddle from his mount. As soon as he placed it near the lean-to, Ibrahim lightly slapped his camel on the rump. The beast needed no further urging before it wandered towards the sparse vegetation between them and the distant shore. The other camels lingered around the men, scratching and grazing at what they could of the dry earth.

Noticing Jared’s gear and sensing his intentions, Ibrahim warned him, “Keep one eye on the camel. Wherever he walks is safe and don’t stray too far.”

Jared glanced perplexedly at the ground and then replied, “It appears solid enough.”

Ibrahim chuckled. “Many things are not what they seem here. The ground is hard, but it is only a shell over what lies beneath. Keep track of the camel and make sure to keep us in sight as well.”

Jared wasn’t about to argue with a man who lived and breathed the desert. “One hour,” he agreed and pulled out his watch to check the time. As always, his eye was drawn to the inside of the cover. Without realizing it, he rubbed his thumb over what was nestled there. Perspiration trickled down his spine and yet he shivered. Snapping the gold timepiece shut decisively, Jared walked in the direction of the distant shoreline, keeping one eye on Ibrahim’s mount as he’d been directed.

Watching his step, Jared made his way past small scrub brush and was certain that there was not much to see beyond that. To his immediate left, his guide’s mount happily scrounged around, finding something to nibble on. When Jared studied the camel, he realized that it was more like a cow than he had originally thought. The animal seemed to regurgitate his food and chew away at it like a heifer, tail flicking at the flies that seemed ever-present. That need to regurgitate was probably why their bridles had no bits. Turning to scan the ocean horizon, he was about to dismiss the area as nothing unusual until he spied a section of sand where a half dozen flowers in various stages of development had erupted from the apparently barren soil.

Taking Ibrahim’s words to heart, he moved carefully across the hard ground like it was treacherous ice to get closer to the blossoms. When he was no more than a few feet from the first, he crouched down to approach it, absently flipping his journal open as he did so. A bright yellow, the blossom had burst from the ground like a spearhead in defiance of the inhospitable dirt. Lumps of buds cascaded down the stalk in a pyramid formation and Jared caught a whiff of the flower. It was subtle and seductive as springtime, so out of place amongst the barren, dry landscape. Although not quite what he remembered from his mother’s meticulous gardens at home, Jared felt sure the flower before him was some type of hyacinth.

Sitting down and finding a comfortable position with which to begin to sketch the flower in his journal, he found his thoughts drifting to its history. Within Greek mythology, Hyacinth was a beautiful boy beloved by two gods: Apollo and Zephyr – the west wind – not to mention the mortal singer Thamyris. Hyacinth chose Apollo and one day when they played and competed with each other using a discus, the West Wind, jealous that the mortal hadn’t chosen him, blew the discus off course so that it mortally wounded the youth. But Apollo refused to allow Hades to claim him and turned the boy’s spilt blood into the flower before Jared.

 

Fingers dancing across the page and bringing the sketch to life, Jared recalled how the singer Thamyris loved the boy as well and was the first mortal man to love another man. Love found and lost, jealousy and betrayal. So much symbolism wrapped up in a single bloom. Bringing the pencil up to his lips, Jared nibbled on the end unconsciously. He chided himself for playing the romantic fool. It was a flower, nothing more and he had no room for romance in his heart any longer. Readjusting his hat to shield his eyes from the insistent glare, he continued to flesh out the drawing, glad he had a few colors with him. They were more than enough. He loosened his cravat, not feeling the need for such strict propriety when there were no judgmental eyes on him, and let the ends dangle in the almost non-existent wind.

When he’d finished capturing a few views of the blossom, not to mention the camel happily grazing away, Jared realized more than an hour had come and gone. As he was rising to his feet, Ibrahim appeared over the slight hill behind him. Slapping briskly at his trousers to remove the salty and surprisingly damp sand that clung there, Jared could see the scowl on his guide’s face.

“I told you an hour,” he practically snapped.

Chuckling at the surly man, Jared replied easily, “It was nothing. I simply lost track of time.”

“It is not nothing. Here, you must be ever watchful. Vigilant,” Ibrahim added, his mood somewhat improved at having found Jared safe and sound. “With the Barih Thorayya upon us, a storm could come up and you would be blind to everything around you.”

Jared must have made some sound of disbelief, because Ibrahim nodded his head vigorously. “Blind and lost in a matter of minutes. Or the rains could come and wash this place away.”

Jared took in the scarce brush and cracked earth. He could barely hear the crash of waves from the distant shore let alone notice the hum of a breeze so faint and ineffectual that it did nothing more than push the warm air around him. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful. Rude,” he substituted when Ibrahim cocked his head curiously. “But I simply can’t believe it could be so bad.”

“Whether _you_ believe or not makes no matter to the desert,” he answered, turning to head back to their tiny camp. “It would still happen.”

Jared shrugged his shoulders and closed up his journal. He wasn’t going to disagree with someone who had spent his life living in the wasteland. This was Ibrahim’s domain, his purview. Who was Jared to argue in the face of that?

Back at their camp, Jared noticed that Kadeem was spreading some kind of batter across a metal griddle almost two feet in diameter that rested over a small fire. How the young man, dressed head to toe in long robes, could crouch so close to a fire in the heat and show no discomfort amazed and bewildered Jared. The cousins were reclining under the lean-to, dozing in the shade it provided. Ibrahim told them something in Arabic and both men scrambled to their feet and moved to the remaining camels that grazed nearby. Jared’s guide then gestured to the lean-to.

“Please, make yourself comfortable. The food is almost ready.”

Jared nodded and sat down under the cover provided, placing his hat behind him, trying ineffectually to straighten out his sweaty hair. He noticed two of the saddles were close by and made for an excellent surface to lean against and took advantage of that. He placed his journal and pencils beside him and watched as Ibrahim pointed to whatever Kadeem was cooking. It was clear he was correcting his son, what with the way the younger man frowned in return, but their body language was close, intimate. Jared knew there was nothing demeaning or cruel in the way the guide spoke to his son, even if the younger man bristled at the inherent authority in his father’s voice. Kadeem listened, whether he cared to admit he might have made a mistake or could have done something better or not. There was love and respect between the men; it was evident even to an outsider such as Jared. He dropped his eyes and traced a pattern along the ground cloth he lay on. If only he could say the same about his own paternal relationship. Pulling out his watch, Jared gazed at its inside cover again, before sighing and tucking it away. When he looked up, he saw Ibrahim watching him closely before turning back to his son.

The two cousins returned to the shelter with a large, but simple, platter. On it was a selection of fresh dates, a dish of what Jared guessed was yogurt and an aluminum basin of freshly collected camel’s milk. Kadeem came over and carefully arranged several folded items that resembled the pancakes his family’s cook made, only thicker, around the tray. Ibrahim was still by the fire, but he had removed the heavy griddle from it and was doing something with a small pot directly over the still-glowing coals.

Everyone but Ibrahim had settled themselves cross-legged around the large tray. Jared noticed the men seemed to make a point of almost hiding their sandal-covered feet from view, so he made sure to tuck his own feet well out of sight, too. Ibrahim joined the group, carrying a long-beaked, brass pot in one hand, and a small stack of tiny cups in the other. He carefully arranged the porcelain containers, hardly bigger than a thimble, so there was one in front of everyone and then poured no more than a splash of the hot beverage – coffee, if Jared’s nose was on point – into each.

“Coffee with cardamom, rosewater and ginger,” Ibrahim explained as Jared sniffed at the cup. He then said something in Arabic that Jared assumed might be a brief prayer.

The small amount of liquid cooled quickly and Jared sipped slowly, smiling in appreciation for the strong beverage. The other men joined in, eager for the _kahwa_ , as Ibrahim had referred to it. Sensing that the others might be waiting on him, Jared selected a date and began to eat it. The rest joined in. Trying to be discreet, Jared surreptitiously watched the others and how they ate. He noticed no one took food with their left hand, so he made sure to do the same. Kadeem seemed to notice Jared’s hesitance and made a show of picking up the pancake, tearing off a piece and using it to scoop out some of the yogurt.

“That is shraak,” he told Jared and pointed to his untouched piece. “It is a kind of bread we make on the _saj_ ,” and he nodded back toward the curved, metal pan, now cooling in the sand. As he swallowed, the young man asked, “What do you call that in English, please?”

Copying the lad and gathering up some yogurt, Jared replied, “A griddle would be the closest, I think.”

“Griddle,” Kadeem echoed, rolling the word around in his mouth as though trying it on for size. “Griddle,” he nodded decisively.

Ibrahim offered Jared another small portion of coffee as soon as he noticed the Englishman’s cup was empty. Jared paid attention as one of the cousins twisted his cup back and forth with his wrist and Ibrahim didn’t refill that one. He tucked that tidbit away for later.

The meal was quickly consumed and Jared surprised himself with his appetite; he had been certain the oppressive heat would have crushed it, but the food seemed to be just what he craved. The dates had been sweet and surprisingly juicy, the flatbread and yogurt filling, and the coffee bracing. As he passed the bowl of milk to Kadeem, after taking a good swallow of the thick fluid, he saw Ibrahim reach for the brass pot again. Hoping he got it right, Jared mimicked the motion he had seen before. Ibrahim smiled and set the pot aside, while Kadeem and the others laughed and smiled at Jared.

“You watch closely,” Kadeem said while tapping near his eye.

“There is so much to learn,” Jared countered, “and I wouldn’t wish to offend.”

“You are always trying, and no one could ask for more of a guest,” Ibrahim pronounced. Jared felt his face heat more, which he would have thought impossible given where they currently were, at the kind words and he lowered his eyes bashfully.

With the meal over, the men rose and began to dismantle the temporary camp. Jared took a moment to run his hands along the top of the lean-to. It was hot to the touch on the outer surface, but had provided suitable shade for them while they rested. “What is this made of?” he asked Kadeem.

The young man paused from his task. “It is goat’s hair. It keeps the sun out and when it rains, the hair…” and he splayed the fingers of both hands, laced them together and gripped his hands tightly.

“Contracts,” Jared offered.

“Yes, contracts in the rain, so one stays dry,” he finished.

Rather than merely stand there, Jared took it upon himself to help dismantle the partial tent with Kadeem, trying to picture rain falling over the barren land. Ibrahim and the cousins spoke in muted voices while he did so, pointing at Jared, but the guide smiled the entire time so Jared assumed they were surprised he’d helped. Jared packed up his journal and pencils and, taking one look at “Kitten”, jammed his hat firmly back on his head. He climbed aboard and tried his best to situate himself while the rest of the men broke camp and saddled the other camels.

The afternoon passed much as the morning did, although after an hour or so, Jared noticed the hard-packed ground began to give way to softer sand. The dunes that Ibrahim had promised were slowly forming along the horizon. Although they came across no one else, there was an abandoned building that caught Jared’s eye. Ibrahim had dutifully obliged him and brought their train to a halt, allowing Jared time to explore and sketch to his heart’s content.

The building had been a holy one, Ibrahim had informed him, long since abandoned.

“But why was it?” Jared asked.

Ibrahim shrugged as he stroked his camel along its shoulder. “More than likely the desert took back whatever it had given and the people moved on.”

Jared was keen to study the walls, which had cracked and crumbled somewhat under the onslaught of the elements. He saw that beneath the plaster façade of dried mud, there was row after row of limestone bricks – rough and unevenly shaped – buried beneath. Jared had noted small cliffs of the stuff as they’d departed Doheh. Walking softly, so as not to disturb the solitude, he was struck by the beautiful, but lonely, quality of the building as it stood there, facing nature while slowly being consumed and reclaimed by it. He dashed off a quick sketch, planning to fill in some of the details later. The men were shifting restlessly near the camels; he didn’t know if it was out of boredom, eagerness to move on or unease with the place itself. But Jared didn’t want them to be unduly put out by his hobby, even if he was paying for the expedition. They quickly moved on.

Another few hours found them deep in the dunes he had hoped to see. The sun, a molten ball sinking fast towards the horizon, splashed the sand in orange fire and deepened the cerulean of the sky. Jared shook his head in amazement and, as he took in the still mostly level terrain uninterrupted by tree or mountain, could understand why his forefathers had thought the world flat. To Jared, he felt like he was witnessing infinity.

When he eased out of the elaborate “saddle”, he gave Basinah – his kitten – a gentle pat to her flank. She batted her eyes up at him and Jared thought she looked grateful to be rid of his weight, although Ibrahim had assured him she could have carried twice what she currently did for weeks with no ill effects. He delicately ran a finger around the curve of her ear, and smiled when she twitched it in irritation. It was as soft as it had looked.

As with lunch, the men set up the lean-to first and after a full day in the heat, Jared was glad to take advantage of the cover it provided as he’d been unwilling to stay inside his mobile tent once again. He leaned back against a saddle placed alongside him and idly filled in his earlier drawings, while the men bustled about and started the evening meal preparations. But when Ibrahim walked nearby, Jared called him over. He had a few questions and wasn’t sure if they were appropriate for general discussion or not, and recognized that the older man would forgive him any missteps.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Jared began by way of explanation.

“Yes, young sir?” the guide asked as soon as he had seated himself under the tent covering.

He continued to sketch as he spoke. “I understand that the building we came across earlier had been deserted,” and he pointed to his drawing as he spoke. “But I wondered why we haven’t yet crossed anyone else’s path? I know the country is large,” Jared was quick to interject, even though it wasn’t strictly true, he didn’t wish to appear insulting, “but I would have thought we’d have seen someone else by now.”

Ibrahim lowered his eyes and fussed with his dark robes, straightening them unnecessarily and Jared had a growing suspicion the man was hiding something from him that he didn’t wish to disclose.

“Is there a reason why? Perhaps,” he paused and thought of how to phrase it correctly, “there is a reason you don’t want us to cross another’s path?”

Ibrahim looked up, his dark eyes completely unreadable.

“I know Captain Omundson wasn’t keen to have his men disembark,” Jared continued, feeling he was on to something, “which was unusual, since that was the first time on our voyage I had seen him deny his men leave of any sort. Is something amiss here?”

Perhaps he had sounded a trifle fearful at the end and that was what spurred Ibrahim to speak. Jared wasn’t sure.

“Nothing amiss,” Ibrahim admitted. “Simply…unsettled.”

“Unsettled?” Jared prompted, setting his journal aside at his guide’s acknowledgment, giving him his full attention.

“Do you know about our history? I think you know some…more than most Englishmen I have met.” And he fixed Jared with a significant look.

Jared fidgeted under the scrutiny. “I knew someone who was…fluent in these customs and learned a little bit from them.” He didn’t offer any further explanation.

Ibrahim nodded, but didn’t press him for details. He glanced over at his men, one who was settling the camels for the night, while the others fussed over the small fire they had started. “Isa Bin Tarif, the head of the Al Bin Ali tribe and former sheikh of Huwailah, lived in Biddah and Doheh for several years. Six years ago, he grew increasingly suspicious of the new ruler of Bahrain, Sheikh Mohammed bin Khalifa, who was maneuvering on the north-west coast of our land. So he led a alliance of six hundred to Umm Suwayyah where they met the Bahraini troops commanded by Khalifa. A battle was fought near the end of that year, in which Bin Tarif and eighty of his men were killed, and the coalition of Qatari tribes defeated.

“When Tarif died,” Ibrahim continued, “there was an absence of power. So another leader, Sheikh Mohammad bin Thani from the Maadhid tribe of Arabia, moved into Doheh two years later. He took advantage of the quarreling between the leader of Bahrain and Faisal bin Turki, the Emir of the Second Saudi State.”

Jared shook his head slightly as he tried to keep track of all the names and affiliations.

Ibrahim nodded. “It makes one’s head spin, doesn’t it? For us as well. Thani sided with Faisal against the Bahraini and took control of Doheh’s water supply two years ago, including that tower you saw. Khalifa asked for aid from the British and they regained over-lordship of Biddah and Doheh, while Mohammed bin Thani remained as its sheikh. Last year, Faisal gave refuge to some enemies of Mohammed bin Khalifa. In retaliation, the Bahrainis tried many things to drive everyone who was loyal to Faisal out of Bidda and Doheh.”

“Was that why the Bahrainis blocked you from pearl diving last year?” Jared interrupted.

Ibrahim tilted his head appraisingly. “Kadeem was right. You do watch and listen. Yes, that was part of it, which they stopped at the end of the year. In February, some of Faisal’s men began to march here. We have told Bahrain that we will not help Faisal’s men and I have heard that Khalifa will send his brother here to work with the local tribes to stop Faisal’s men.” He glanced down briefly before continuing. “I believe the British will come here again to negotiate. They have an interest in us.”

Jared didn’t need to hear Ibrahim say that it was the _British East India Company_ – his father’s company – that had the interest to understand it was implied.

“It is a…challenging time at the moment to tell friend from foe. And there are hard feelings shared by many,” the older man finished.

“So you think Captain Omundson was concerned for his men’s safety?” Jared wondered with dawning awareness. “That’s why he kept them onboard, so that their presence wouldn’t be misinterpreted?”

_And tried so hard to convince me to stay_ , he thought.

“I think Timothy is a cautious man and is wary to ruffle feathers when it isn’t necessary,” Ibrahim finally replied after some thought.

Jared chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “So we’re taking a more scenic route than many others might?”

Clapping the young Englishman on his shoulder, Ibrahim reassured him. “Timothy trusts me to keep watch for you and I shall. Now don’t concern yourself overly and let me check on my son before he burns something.” With a nod, the guide excused himself from Jared’s immediate presence.

Jared sat there, mind whirling as he tried to grasp the political situation. He had to admit to himself, he would be hard pressed to recognize the difference between one of Faisal’s men from one of the local tribes, given what he’d observed in Doheh regarding clothing and such. And perhaps that was true for those who lived here as well. But a man in a uniform, and a decidedly British uniform at that, would certainly draw attention, suspicion and perhaps even resentment as he travelled around. Timothy was trying to maintain a discreet presence and Jared could appreciate that. But he certainly planned to bombard the man with questions when his excursion was finished.

With somewhat greater understanding, Jared took note of the small, curved daggers that all of the men who travelled with him wore. He had mistakenly assumed they were more decorative than necessary, but had to revise his opinion, given the brief he’d been furnished with from Ibrahim.

_What was it Ibrahim had said? Not all is what it seems?_

Jared rose, abandoning his hat in the lean-to, and walked a short distance from the camp, feeling restless. The sun was barely above the horizon and everything was afire in its waning light, the sand like molten gold. He pulled his cravat completely free and stuffed it in his coat pocket, feeling constricted and no longer wanting the thing around his neck. He faced the sun and closed his eyes, breathing in deep the dry air. Somewhere behind him, one of the men began to pray. The words and tone foreign and familiar all at once and they washed over him, soothing and peaceful. And yet, they also brought on an ache of loneliness that nothing could relieve.

Eventually, the light faded away and Jared returned to the men. No one had come to collect him, sensing that just as they needed time to perform their absolutions, he must have as well. And they were right, Jared thought. He knew he had much to seek forgiveness for.

The dinner was served in much the same way as their lunch was. However, the main course had been a stew of dried goats’ meat and vegetables, surprisingly and pleasantly spicy. Jared had come to appreciate the cuisine of India and was finding typical British fare bland in comparison. Instead of coffee, Ibrahim had brewed tea, a taste of home and yet not at all. The older man had cracked a tall cone of hard sugar and popped a fist-size chunk into the hot tea along with handfuls of mint leaves. The brew was thick and sweet as syrup. Jared had enjoyed it immensely.

When the meal was over and prayers said, Kadeem went over to tend the fire. Ibrahim had mentioned someone would be up to take care of it through the night. Jared debated whether the guard was to keep predators away or, after his discussion with the guide, if it was for something more. Either way, there was little he could do about it and worrying seemed pointless.

“This is for you,” Ibrahim said as he gestured to one of the saddles that had been brought under the lean-to and handed Jared a blanket. After the oppressive heat of the day, Jared tried hard not to scoff at the covering. Instead, he accepted it and tossed it down beside his hat. He removed his coat and waistcoat, folding both neatly and placing them alongside the saddle, deciding to sleep in his shirt and pants. For not having exerted himself much, Jared was suddenly tired. He nestled down against the saddle, and looked out at the night sky.

When he was aboard the _Northfleet_ , he oftentimes felt like they were sailing through the stars and it had been a magical experience. But here, in the middle of the desert, the night sky was as rich as black velvet and the stars seemed close enough to touch. Jared felt that they were all around him, enclosing him, but not in a manner that stole his breath. Softly, someone began to sing.

Craning his neck to the side, Jared saw that it was one of the cousins – Ra’if, Jared thought – and he was very clearly singing to the camels. Jared couldn’t help but grin.

Ibrahim, not far away, must have noticed his expression. “The Bedouin often sing to the camels. We sing them songs on long, hard marches to keep them strong and we sing to them at the end of the day so they know how much we appreciate them. And we sing to prove we are not alone.”

Jared could understand the last part. Rolling away, he curled in on himself, brushing his fingers against his watch pocket to feel the familiar shape inside, and let the gentle words and claps lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally much longer, but after the tragic bombings in Beirut on Thursday and then nearly identical attacks in Paris on Friday, I thought posting a piece of fanfiction that included violent hostage taking so soon to be terribly inappropriate.
> 
> So the chapter has been split in two, with the second half to be posted next week.
> 
> Please keep the people of Lebanon and France in your thoughts this week.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Prayer call recorded outside Jumeirah Mosque, Dubai

 

_ _

 

Jared roused gradually, the sounds of the dawn prayer gently pulling him from his dreams. He blinked slowly, languishing in that state somewhere between wakefulness and sleep and not quite certain of reality. The voice was a mournful sound that echoed strangely along the dunes. Trembling slightly, Jared tugged his blanket higher, chuckling to himself at the thought that he _had_ needed its warmth after all. Once the crescent moon had risen the previous night like a silver scythe against the starry background, he had found himself inexplicably shivering and had reached blindly for the woven cover, chilled and uncomfortable. He’d glanced around the camp vaguely and had seen the others wrapped up from head to foot as well, with a lone guard tending to the fire as Ibrahim had promised. It had been so quiet, with the only sound the pop and hiss of wood occasionally added to the flames.

Lonely without song.

As he yawned and stretched, Jared realized with no small amount of surprise that he was content. The sand underneath him, first warm and then later almost too cool, had made for a soft bed and the saddle a surprisingly comfortable pillow. He’d slept sounder than he ever had aboard the _Northfleet_. And he knew it wasn’t only because his bed hadn’t tipped and lurched throughout the night. The desert felt familiar and comforting, which was an odd thought considering in his entire life he had never set foot in conditions like this before. But that fact didn’t make his sentiments any less truthful. Since he had come ashore, he hadn’t sensed eyes constantly prying and judging him, measuring his worth and finding him wanting. Oh, he was certain the men with him _were_ watching, but more out of a gentle curiosity for his foreign manners than anything else. He could live with that, live with looks without censure.

Under the vast, cloudless sky with miles of pale sand spread before him, Jared felt quite free somehow.

He rose and carefully folded his blanket before setting it beside the saddle. Jared smiled and nodded to Kadeem as he walked some distance from the camp for propriety’s sake to relieve himself. By the time he had returned, there was a small pot of water for him to tend to his morning ablutions. He finished quickly and sparingly – appreciating the scarcity of the liquid – and donned his tan waistcoat, idly tracing the faint, green stain in front that hadn’t disappeared completely. He grinned to himself as a plan began to formulate in his head. Stowing his jacket into his bag, he packed up his few belongings and joined the other men beside the campfire.

Someone, probably Ibrahim, had already prepared tea and Jared savored the sweet brew as he squatted by the fire, chasing the last of the morning chill from his bones. Kadeem was boiling another pot of water, while the cousins passed a pipe with a glass bowl at its base back and forth between them. The smell from it was earthy and slightly sweet to Jared. Ibrahim noticed his interest and gestured to the men to share with him. As Ra’if made to pass the strange pipe to him, Jared shook his head and declined.

“That is a sheesha,” the guide explained as Jared continued to study the odd looking thing.

“It seems very much like a small huqqa,” he replied, having taken note of bigger and more ornate water pipes during his brief exploration of Calcutta, which this item shared similarities to. Usually, larger groups of men sat around the pipes, sucking from a long hose and sharing it amongst them. Jared learned that in addition to tobacco, some used them for opium and something called hashish, but he had given those a wide berth seeing as the smoke seemed to render the men listless and some practically insensate. He was no stranger to opium, considering his father’s company dealt with its trade. But he himself wanted no part of it, seeing how much strife it had brought to other countries and that his father played no small part in it all.

Ibrahim nodded, his words bringing Jared out of his musings. “We have those here as well. But this one is easy to travel with. Inside is mu’assel. It is a mix of tobacco, mint, molasses and dried fruit.” Jared scrunched up his nose at the description and Ibrahim laughed.

“You see the glass bowl there?” he indicated the bottom of the pipe. Jared bobbed his head up and down. “The water inside purifies and cools the smoke before it is breathed in, making it good for you.”

“I think I will hold off for now,” Jared told him, but didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand. Perhaps before he returned to the ship he might indulge in the tobacco mixture once just to have said he had tried it. When would he ever have the chance again, after all?

Ibrahim appeared unaffected by his refusal and gestured for Jared to return to the lean-to. “Breakfast will be ready soon,” he offered by way of explanation. Jared sat back beneath the covering and watched the sun paint the sky in shades of precious topaz and tangerine. The slightest of breezes caught at the tops of the nearby dunes and blew faint clouds of sand toward the south. Behind him, Jared heard the camels snort and bray and make other noises that would be frowned upon in polite company. He ducked his head and smirked, imagining the disapproving face his mother would make at his choice of dining companions.

After a few minutes, Ibrahim and the other men joined him on the ground cloth. Once again, a large tray was shared between them. This morning, it was heaped with more flat bread, cheese, a bowl of olives mixed with other pickled vegetables and another container with boiled eggs. They ate in sociable silence, only disturbed by the occasional sound of a camel belching.

When the meal was finished and the dishes clean, the group started to break down the camp with practiced efficiency and Jared decided to broach what might be a delicate request. He was always concerned about overstepping his bounds and perhaps requesting something that would be seen as rude or inappropriate to his guide. _But_ , he thought, _nothing ventured, nothing gained_.

He walked over to Ibrahim and cleared his throat. “I wonder if I might ask a favor of you.”

The older man turned, his robes whirling slightly as he did so. “Of course, young sir.”

“Is there any way that I might be able to…ride one of the other camels?” And he gave the guide his most sincere, wide-eyed expression. His older brother, James, had often equated the look to something that hounds had – simultaneously droopy and pathetically sweet.

“Truly? You would rather ride like that?” And he gestured to the camel Kadeem was in the process of saddling.

“More than anything. I know it must be a somewhat different mechanism, but I’m no stranger to horses,” he added hopefully.

The older man regarded Jared for a moment, studying him seriously before speaking quickly to one of the cousins. After a brief dialogue, the other nodded eagerly. “Bashir has offered to let you drive his camel while he will travel in comfort,” Ibrahim said when he had finished talking to the shorter of the two cousins.

Jared smiled widely and Bashir murmured something quickly to Ibrahim. The only word Jared could make out sounded like “ghamazat”. He cocked his head inquisitively and Ibrahim explained.

“He was saying that when you smile, you get…holes…in your face like his little sister does. I don’t know the word in English.” And he shrugged apologetically.

Jared felt himself flush. The “holes” in his face had been the bane of his childhood existence, with his brother’s endless ribbing and his mother’s delighted cooing over them. “Dimples,” he replied, pointing to the offending feature.

Bashir nodded and slapped him on the shoulder. “Come, Dimples,” he said and led Jared over to his camel. Jared blushed even more; he was certain that the label was going to stick. As he walked over, Kadeem handed him his hat before moving to store Jared’s portmanteau inside Basinah’s saddle enclosure. Placing his top hat – and Jared honestly was growing to despise the thing – firmly on his head, he slowly approached the kneeling camel, hoping to avoid any spitting incidents.

“Habbab,” Bashir grunted in a guttural burst and Jared rightfully took it to mean the camel’s name.

Standing nearby, Ibrahim started, “It mean’s –”

“Loveable, I’d wager,” Jared finished for him and tried not to laugh as the older man’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his head wrap.

“How did you know?” he wondered.

Dropping his eyes, Jared shuffled a foot aimlessly in the sand. “It sounded very much like a word someone I used to…know used once. They never told me what it meant, and I had the devil of a time finding out its meaning, but eventually I did.”

Jared, desperately wanting to change the subject, moved toward Habbab carefully and gently stroked its head. “I hope you plan on living up to your name,” he quipped. Habbab merely snorted, which Jared decided to interpret as an amiable response. “Good,” he teased.

After a closer inspection of the unfamiliar saddle, Jared confirmed that the lack of stirrups wasn’t the only difference that set it apart from those he was used to using. Towards both the pommel and cantle were prominent horns. Jared had never ridden one of the Yanks’ saddles, but it kind of reminded him of that style. He thought they used the horns to help with roping livestock and such and wondered if perhaps that’s what this was for as well. And there was a single rein that connected to the bridle, unlike the familiar closed reins he grew up with at home. Studying the tack, Jared chewed the inside of his cheek. He hoped he hadn’t bitten off more than he could swallow by making the request.

Readjusting his hat with a sharp tug, Jared nodded to himself. “Right, then,” he announced to his escorts, who were clearly trying – and failing – to hide their mirth at his self-inflicted predicament. Approaching from the camel’s left side, Jared grabbed the rein with one hand and swung a leg easily over the tall saddle; his height giving him a clear advantage over the Qataris he was travelling with and made his attempt appear more practiced than it actually was. He settled himself across the seat and discovered the saddle was fairly comfortable. However, now that he was astride the beast, he wasn’t sure what to do next. He decided to simply shadow the other men’s actions.

Ibrahim smiled, and Jared noticed the skin crinkling deeply alongside his eyes. The desert life had worn itself into his skin. He handed Jared a simple crop and then mounted Fayyad. When the last of the camp’s gear was strapped onto the animals, the rest of the men emulated him. Bashir was the last to mount up, but he did so with exaggerated and grandiose motions as he climbed inside the covered platform to the cat calls and jibes of the others. Jared couldn’t help but giggle at what he supposed was an impersonation of him or, more than likely, foreigners in general. How foolish, he realized, they must all look when strangers in a strange land.

Ibrahim smacked his camel’s flank lightly and the beast dutifully rose. Jared did the same and Habbab obliged by raising his back legs and then alternated with his front in a seesawing pattern that had him gripping the horn between his legs for all he was worth. When the animal was fully upright, Jared kept one hand on the horn and clutched the rein and crop with the other. Habbab, for his part, seemed content to amble along after Fayyad with little need of direction from Jared, which was probably just as well as Jared attempted to find a rhythm that suited them both but hadn’t yet.

Ibrahim kept their pace slow, which gave Jared plenty of opportunities to take in their surroundings. Although he’d never admit it, Jared found it a bit daunting to be so high up on the camel. With the saddle built above the hump and his own, lanky height, he was higher above the ground than he was when on horseback. But the lack of an enclosure was so liberating. He could look about and turn at ease, even if all he saw was another row of nearly identical dunes before him.

After a few hours, Jared fidgeted in his seat. Without stirrups, he was at a loss as to what he should do with his legs and his form was a bit slapdash when they picked up speed. When Ibrahim dropped back to ride abreast of Jared, the guide appeared to notice Jared’s discomfit. He reined back his mount further and Jared followed suit.

“Here,” the older man began without preamble and raised the long robes he wore to reveal his legs. Jared saw that the man had his right leg wrapped around the horn, resembling a woman riding sidesaddle. “Place your right leg in tight like this,” and he slapped his thigh for emphasis, “and lock it in place with your left.”

Jared copied the position, wrapping his right leg in front of the horn and then tucking his right foot under his left knee. The change was immediate. He was much more secure in his position and sat straighter because of that.

“Good,” Ibrahim encouraged him. “Now, when you are ready to move out, tap him on the shoulder and say, ‘Hut, hut, hut’."

Jared bounced his head up and down and adjusted his posture. Clenching the rein in his right hand, he raised his left and gave Habbab a snap with the crop. “Hut, hut, hut!” he said loudly and the camel was off like a shot.

Hanging onto the rein for dear life, he whooped out, “Huzzah!”

The camel was racing at about the speed of a horse’s gallop and Jared clenched down with his thighs as best he could. But when they cleared the top of the dune in front of them, the steep decline was his undoing. Already unsure of his seat, Jared wasn’t able to lean back far enough in the high saddle to compensate for the severe angle of the decent. Before he had time to think, he found himself falling forward and over Habbab’s head, tumbling and eventually landing on his backside with a resounding thud on the sand at the base of the dune. He sat there, legs splayed and with his hat half-crushed beside him, while Habbab came to a complete stop and let out a call that sounded suspiciously like a laugh to Jared. As he tried to gather his thoughts, a stray breeze caught his ruined hat and he watched it somersault again and again across the sands. Jared began to laugh, great peals of mirth shaking his body.

Ibrahim and the others crested the dune and, seeing he appeared unhurt, slowly dismounted and walked their camels down the too-steep slope. Kadeem, spotting Jared’s hat blowing away, made as if to pursue the dwindling, black speck, but Jared waved dismissively.

“Let it go,” he gasped between chuckles. “It’s not worth the effort.” He collected himself and stood, brushing sand from his tan pants.

Ibrahim eyed him over and, after assuring himself his first assessment was correct and Jared was uninjured, declared, “Today is a little difficult, but tomorrow will be better.”

The pronouncement sobered Jared up some. His laughter finally subsiding, he answered, “That is what I tell myself every day.”

Jared didn’t hesitate to get back on Habbab and the rest of the morning proved decidedly uneventful. And although he was glad to see the hated thing gone, without his hat Jared did find himself dabbing his brow more often and squinting at the horizon from the glare of the sun.

The caravan stopped briefly for lunch. The meal was much the same as the day before and again Jared surprised himself at his robust appetite, despite the sweltering temperatures. When the meal was finished and he was about to help the men break down the camp, Ibrahim waved his hand up and down and Jared stayed seated. The older man folded a large, off- white cloth into a triangle and then placed it, with the fold across Jared’s forehead so that the points rested near his shoulders. Then he wrapped a rope-like cord around Jared’s head to hold it in place.

Tilting Jared’s head first one way and then the other, Ibrahim grunted, “Good. The kufiya will protect you from the sun and sand and the igal will hold it in place while you drive. And with the way you drive,” he added slyly, “you will need it tied to your head.”

Jared laughed and brushed his fingers against the cord; he was touched by the other man’s concern, couched cleverly in a near insult. “You are probably right,” he agreed. “I need all the assistance I can receive.”

“Come,” Ibrahim urged him. “We still have some ways to go before sunset and your driving skills need practice.” Jared couldn’t disagree.

In the afternoon, Jared found a comfortable pace to drive his beast and learned when it was advisable to dismount and walk alongside his camel rather than fly over its head. He and Habbab had apparently reached an understanding of sorts by the time the group had stopped for the night and although he was sore and walked bow-legged for a short time after he’d settled the camel for the evening, Jared was giddier than ever. And the mood was contagious, with all the men lingering awake and by the fire long after their evening meal was finished.

Bashir started to say something to Ra’if in Arabic, but Ibrahim chastised them for it. “It’s fine,” Jared offered. “I wanted to read some at any rate and I know everyone must be exhausted from trying to accommodate me and my language. I truly don’t mind,” he added with an earnest bob of his head.

Ibrahim relayed what Jared said, and the two cousins immediately struck up an animated conversation, clearly pleased to be able to speak unrestrainedly. It wasn’t long before Kadeem joined them and Jared had to smirk at the way the young man took advantage of his offer as well. His father wanted his son to practice English, but it would have been rude to ignore Jared’s gesture, as the younger man had pointed out. Ibrahim had sighed and given his son a look that clearly stated in any language that they would be exchanging words in the near future once alone.

Jared strolled over to his bag and pulled out his copy of _A Christmas Carol_. He returned and settled himself comfortably against one of the saddles near the fire and lay at angle that allowed him to easily see the print of his book. The first edition had been a Christmas gift from his brother when Jared was eight and instantly became a favorite of his for all the reasons he had given to Timothy. And, like young Mr. Ford, he had to admit to enjoying the spectral aspect of the story as well. He’d managed to read some of the works of the American poet and novelist Edgar Allen Poe, who’d only passed away a few years prior. His stuff was full of the macabre; a delightful foray into the Gothic genre, but Jared’s mother had frowned on him reading the “ravings of a depraved drunk and drug addict” and promptly disposed of the books and publications Jared had collected.

He hadn’t read much past the arrival of Marley’s ghost, when he sensed Ibrahim’s presence nearby. The older man was discreetly trying to glance over Jared’s shoulder at the illustration on the page opposite the one he was reading. Jared shifted around and made a motion for the guide to move closer.

“I don’t mean to disturb,” Ibrahim apologized, but Jared shushed him.

“It’s no disturbance. I’ve read this story so many times that I could probably recite it in my sleep by now.” Jared adjusted himself so that the other man could sit beside him and held the book between them.

“What is that?” Ibrahim asked as he pointed out Marley in the drawing.

“That is the ghost of Jacob Marley. See that man there?” Jared asked as he pointed to the shivering figure of Ebenezer Scrooge as he huddled next to his meager fire in the immense hearth.

“Yes,” Ibrahim replied.

“The ghost was his friend and business partner when alive and now he’s come to warn the man to change his ways or he’ll face a terrible fate after he dies.”

“And the chain wrapped around the ghost?” the older man wondered. “Is he a slave?”

“The chain is his punishment for the way he lived. Each sin he committed added another link to the chain and now he has to carry it for eternity,” Jared explained and then doubted if any of that made sense to the man who had his own beliefs. “He knows how big his friend’s chain has grown and wants to spare him the same fate.”

“Ahh,” Ibrahim exclaimed, his dark eyes flashing in the firelight. “So the friend is a kind of Hafaza.”

Now it was Jared’s turn to be confused. “I don’t know what that means.”

Ibrahim stroked his pointed beard and searched for the words. Finally, he replied, “A Hafaza is like an angel and everyone is given four. They watch over you, two by day and two by night, to protect you from the Devil and the djinn. And they have a book where they write down every good and every bad deed you have ever done. When judgement comes, they will be used to decide whether you are allowed into Paradise.”

Jared could see the similarities. “I know of the Devil, but not the djinn,” he admitted. Jared had read a few stories about them from a book in his father’s library, but he didn’t know if any of them were based on truth or merely flights of fancy.

Ibrahim grabbed a slender stick and jabbed at the fire. “The Creator made everything, but only three have souls and wisdom: the angels, humans and the djinn. We,” he tapped his chest, “came from clay, but the djinn came from scorching fire without smoke. We cannot see them, but they see us, can touch us. Unlike angels but like us, they have free will. So there are many that are evil and the Hafaza protect us from those like Shaytān, who the Creator cast out of Paradise for not bowing before us.”

“Satan,” Jared breathed and Ibrahim nodded solemnly. “And are the djinn always around us like the Hafaza?”

“Some djinn live in lands far from people, others in the sea and others still in the mountains.” He paused and poked the fire so that sparks shot up and drifted into the growing darkness blanketing them. “Now and dawn are when we are most in danger from the evil ones, because that is when the Hafaza guard changes.”

And as though it was as staged as any production in a theatre, a growl rose from the distance and everyone fell silent, even the camels.

No one spoke for a minute and Jared fidgeted nervously. Finally, he broke the stillness with a question. “Was that a dog?”

Eventually, Ibrahim drew himself up straighter and answered, “Perhaps. Or a wolf.”

“You have wolves here?” Jared asked incredulously.

“We do, but they are treacherous creatures, hunting and killing the farmers’ goats and flocks. They are killed on sight,” he finished. The other men had resumed talking, but were far more subdued than before.

Jared, wanting to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere, turned Ibrahim’s attention back to his book. “Can you read English as well as you speak it?”

That garnered a small smile from his guide. “Timothy says I need more practice.”

“Like my driving?” Jared quirked.

“Exactly so, young sir.” And with that, the good mood from earlier returned.

For the next hour, Jared and Ibrahim read the book together and Jared had to agree with Timothy that Ibrahim could use more practice, but his skills were still very impressive. Jared knew he would be completely at a loss to make head or tail of the Arabic language. The beautiful script was a complete mystery to him when written.

When the darkness was absolute, by mutual agreement they stopped reading. Jared tapped the closed book gently against his leg. “It must be difficult to get material to read in English here.”

“Yes,” Ibrahim acknowledged. “There isn’t much of it and what there is is very expensive.”

And Jared recalled Timothy’s words from the other night. How he thought Dickens was a hypocrite for writing a book about those less fortunate and selling it at a price none but the wealthy could comfortably afford. And he saw his newly-acquired kufiya, carefully folded by his “bed”, and the generosity of spirit behind it.

“Here,” he announced and handed the book to Ibrahim. The man was startled and shook his head in the negative.

“I could not,” he argued.

“I insist,” Jared pressed on. “Please.”

Ibrahim accepted the book with his right hand, while clutching his elbow with his left and bowed deeply from where he sat.

Jared smiled and rose to his feet. He bid the others a pleasant night’s rest and made up his bed, pulling the blanket close by. As he drifted off to sleep, he saw how the others crowded around Ibrahim to take in the book. And he saw how carefully Ibrahim handled the bound pages, scolding any other if they were too eager to touch, and he knew the man would treasure it as much as Jared had. He rolled over, pleased with his decision, and fell asleep almost immediately.

In the morning, Jared was both excited and disappointed to recall that it was the last, full day of his excursion before they needed to return to Doheh. But he did his best to put the thought out of his head and enjoy his time to the fullest. Ibrahim smiled broadly and was still slightly overwhelmed with Jared’s gift. But Jared would periodically touch his head wrap and smile, to let the man know his thoughtfulness was not forgotten, either. The only thing that somewhat disrupted their calm morning was the continued presence of the wolf, which appeared to be trailing them.

“It’s not a good omen,” Ibrahim muttered once they had stopped for the midday meal. Jared wanted to tease him about his worry over an animal smaller than Jared’s own hounds in England, but bit his tongue, not wanting to sound disrespectful when the other man was so obviously distressed.

Unlike the previous two days, Jared discovered he was drowsy after their lunch. He guessed actually riding in the heat, as opposed to being carted around was tiring him out; it was the most continuous exercise he’d had since having left England. And his surreptitious yawn did not escape Ibrahim’s hawk-like eyes.

“Why don’t you rest for an hour?” Ibrahim told him.

Jared had been rolling up his sleeves – his suit coat long since abandoned to his leather bag – to help dismantle the lean-to. He huffed, prepared to argue that he was fine, when he realized a short nap wouldn’t be amiss.

He plopped down on the ground cloth and pulled out his watch. “An hour, you say?”

“One hour,” the other man echoed.

Jared jerked his head once and then stared again at the inside of his watch cover. So lost in thought as he regarded what lay inside, he was unaware that the guide was still there.

“What is that?” Ibrahim asked him.

Startled, Jared looked up and realized that this was not the first time the older man had caught him lingering longer than most over a timepiece. He rolled his upper lip under his front teeth and bit at the tender flesh for a long moment. Releasing the abused flesh, he sighed, “My father’s legacy.” When Ibrahim cocked his head, Jared amended his declaration to, “Well, actually the burden of my father’s legacy.” And, finally, “Nothing. It’s nothing but a watch.”

When Jared made no attempt to elucidate further, Ibrahim shrugged and wandered off, more than likely to tell the other men of the delay in their departure. Jared removed his kufiya and igal, folding the former and coiling up the latter. Placing them beside the saddle, he leaned back and made himself comfortable. Almost against his will, his fingers tripped up and down the chain that connected his watch to his waistcoat and he murmured a line from Dickens as he started to doze.

“‘I wear the chain I forged in life,’ replied the Ghost. ‘I made it link by link, and yard by yard…’”

Sometime later, Jared shot into wakefulness, heart pounding. Ibrahim and the others were shouting while the camels were bellowing and grunting. Pushing himself upright, Jared caught sight of a group of five men, all on camels, as they surrounded the small camp. They were dressed completely in black and had wrapped the ends of their kufiyas so that both nose and mouth were obscured. They yelled something to Ibrahim and he and the others hollered back. In the confusion and chaos, Kadeem went to draw his knife from its sheath. Before Jared could do or say anything, a crack like thunder split the air and everyone stilled.

For an instant, Jared froze. But it slowly registered in his brain that the sand at Kadeem’s feet had puffed up and the young man was still standing. It had been a warning shot. The other riders also drew their weapons and there was no contest: rifle trumped blade. Jared’s mind, like his heart, was racing. Were these men bandits? Faisal’s men? Something else?

Three of the men dismounted, while the other two circled behind Ibrahim’s camels, penning them in. Jared hadn’t been spotted yet and he crouched by the saddle, unsure of his next move. While the leader kept his rifle loosely aimed at Ibrahim, the other two began poking at packs and overturning pots with the ends of their guns. And all the while, the low and threatening dialogue continued.

Rattled, Jared worried that somehow this was all his fault. If he hadn’t wanted to explore the desert so badly, Ibrahim and his family would be safely somewhere else, not catering to the whims of a spoiled foreigner. Without forethought, Jared quickly grabbed his portfolio out of his bag and yanked his travel documents free. Clenching them in his fist, he crawled back around the saddle and stood up, clearing his throat as he did.

“Is there a problem here?” he said, trying to infuse some authority in his voice.

The leader whirled in his direction, while snapping something off quickly to the other two. As Jared walked slowly towards him, sincerely hoping he wasn’t trembling noticeably, the other bandits rushed behind him. The next instant, he was shoved forward but managed to catch himself before falling to the feet of the first man.

“There’s no call for that,” he said sharply over his shoulder, hoping his bravado was believable. Turning to face the head man, he gave his waistcoat a swift yank with his free hand. “I hired these men here, so if you have a problem with them, best to settle it with me.” He had no idea if any of the bandits spoke English, but he hoped his tone would convey his meaning at least.

The leader, almost as tall as Jared, regarded him shrewdly. “British?” he asked in a deep, rough voice.

“Yes,” Jared replied and raised himself straighter, even as he heard Ibrahim hiss in distress beside him.

“No, Jared,” he whispered.

“In point of fact, I am an envoy of the Honorable East India Company,” Jared announced and presented his papers like a shield. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the H.E.I.C.”

The other man grabbed the documents and as he scanned them, unhurriedly pulled free the section of cloth that covered most of his face. He looked back up at Jared and a slow smile curled his full lips, even as it was partially hidden by his beard and moustache. But the expression did nothing to set Jared’s mind at ease. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Oh, yes. I have heard of them.”

Still smiling, he stepped right up to Jared and his eyes roved up and down the length of the Englishman’s body. “W-what do you want?” Jared demanded, cringing when his voice betrayed him.

“I take what I want,” he replied smoothly.

He dragged his finger down Jared’s soiled waistcoat and hooked it around the gold watch chain. He stepped back and with one quick yank, pulled the timepiece free. Flipping it around easily in his large hand, he smiled and said something to his companions. They all laughed.

“Here now,” Jared yelled. “Give that back!” Ignoring the hand that Ibrahim shot out to stop him, Jared charged at the man toying with his watch. He barely stepped forward before there was another crack as something solid connected with the back of his head. Slipping to his knees, Jared was vaguely aware of an eruption of noise around him as it sounded as though everyone began shouting simultaneously. From the corner of his eye, he caught flashes of movement as robes swirled around him. Something ran down the side of his face, splashing on the sand and he let his gaze follow whatever it was.

Suddenly, the sand was rushing up to meet him and Jared wondered idly how that had happened. He struggled to turn his head to the side, noticing that whatever had dripped on the sand was exactly the color of yarn he’d seen in the Doheh market, the one that Ibrahim said had been dipped twice in the royal purple, the one that had looked like dried blood. Without even being aware of it, his eyes fluttered shut.

*****

Jared desperately tried to open his eyes. The room he was in was dark and stuffy, swaying to and fro. _My cabin on the Northfleet_ , he thought and guessed he’d had too much wine at dinner. That would explain why he was having the devil of a time making sense of anything. Jared rolled onto his back, wondering what the terrible lump in his mattress was. It was when he tried to brush the hair plastered stiffly to the side of his face free that awareness began to trickle back in. He couldn’t move his hands because he was lying on top of them. Rolling back to his side, he tried again and realized he couldn’t move them then because they were tied. That insight brought his mind lurching back to full wakefulness.

He attempted to sit up, but the sudden movement caused his stomach to roil violently, so he abandoned the idea. Breathing rapidly through his nose and desperately trying to avoid vomiting, Jared took stock of the situation.

A little wiggling confirmed that not only were his hands bound, but his feet as well. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Jared recognized the “walls” of his room. He was once again back inside the enclosed saddle he’d ridden in the first day out of Doheh, being smothered by the cloth pen. Swallowing convulsively, he knew he couldn’t stop himself from getting sick. Rolling to the back, Jared twisted his head to the side and lost what food had still been in his stomach. When he was done retching, he rolled away from the foul smelling puddle. Seeing the familiar split in the fabric, Jared managed to push himself to his knees and, bending awkwardly, stick his head outside.

The sky was growing soft and rosy. It was nearly sunset. Assuming that it was the same day, Jared calculated he had lain unconscious for five hours. That meant he could be ten or more miles from his last camp. The only other thing in his line of sight was the camel his was tethered to. And the man driving it, of course. Jared’s best guess was it was the one he’d assumed was the leader. As quietly as possible, Jared tried to stick his head farther out, but the position he was in made it impossible. He could only see what was directly in front or beside him. Jared heard others around, the sounds of the camels too distinctive, but he had no idea who or how many that might be. Eventually, his knees began to ache, so he reluctantly pulled his head back inside and sank to the platform.

He gnawed on his lower lip, terrified what Ibrahim and his family’s fate might have been. The last clear memory he had before he’d passed out was of Ibrahim and Kadeem struggling with the bandits. If they’d been taken prisoner, he figured they would have been tied up and tossed in here with him. Their obvious absence only served to fill him with dread. Sharp pinpricks stabbed at his eyes and Jared knew he was on the verge of tears. He prayed the others were safe and that this wasn’t all somehow his fault.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jared collected himself. He rolled to the side and once again struggled until he was kneeling by the opening. Taking another look, this time he was able to make out the distant outlines of buildings between the dunes. He was certain that was their destination and he hoped to find out the fate of his guides soon enough. The shapes of the buildings became more distinct against the setting sun. Some were no different than those in Doheh, but a few had onion domes and there was at least one tower that he could make out. The small city appeared more sophisticated and wealthy in its architecture compared to Doheh. Jared wasn’t sure what that might signify for him or his entourage.

Soon enough, he and his captor passed through the gates of the walled city. Before he had the chance to note much else, both he and the other man’s camel were sinking to the ground. Jared ducked back inside and felt another wave of nausea wash over him, partially from the abrupt movement and partially from the stench of his previous sickness. Trying to calm his heart, Jared strained to listen as several voices spoke near him, but he didn’t recognize a word. Suddenly, someone flipped back the cloth and Jared found himself being manhandled out of the enclosed saddle and dumped unceremoniously on the ground.

While one man stood with one foot on his chest to pin him in place, another drew out a long sword. He did so with slow deliberation and Jared could tell he enjoyed the fear he was instilling in the process. Trying to maintain a brave front, Jared reminded himself that they probably didn’t bring him all this way simply to kill him without fanfare or audience. Probably. But until the man bent down and sliced the ropes around his feet, he couldn’t make himself believe his own words.

Sheathing his sword, the man joined his companion and hauled Jared to his feet. He swayed and, for a moment, thought he would be sick again. He fully planned to retch on one of his captors if that was the case. But the queasiness abated.

“Where am I?” Jared demanded. Twisting in their grip, he tried to see if Ibrahim and the others were near but only saw the five bandits. “Where are Ibrahim and his family?”

The leader snickered and told Jared nothing as he and the other man holding him began to drag and shove Jared into the building nearest them. Still disorientated and woozy, Jared barely noticed the smooth hallways he was practically carried through. He struggled and continued to demand the whereabouts of the other men, but was soundly ignored.

When they entered a large, pale room, Jared was scarcely able to spare it more than a passing glance. Ornately carved lattices filled each open window and sumptuous Persian rugs were strewn over the smooth floor, along with pillows and cushions of various sizes and patterns. A low table to one side held brightly polished cups and plates. The last thing Jared saw as the two men slammed him to his knees was the setting sun. When one of the bandits grabbed him by the back of his neck and forced his head to the floor, Jared realized it was dusk and his Hafaza were changing guard. This was when he was most vulnerable to the evil djinn, Ibrahim believed, and Jared couldn’t help but agree as he heard hushed, heated words followed by the sound of someone striding in, sandaled feet slapping angrily on the floor.

“Aish Hatha?” a deep, gravel-rough voice demanded and Jared shivered at the sound.

The restraining hand on his neck slipped away and Jared slowly sat back up. As he did so, his gaze travelled from the embroidered hem of the stranger’s rich, black robes all the way up the distance of his tall body to the uncovered face of the man before him. He lingered on the faint freckles he knew so well to finally meet jade green eyes that assessed him dispassionately, almost cruelly.

“Jensen,” he rasped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The illustration by John Leech for Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_ is in the public domain.
> 
> Also, as this week is Thanksgiving in the U.S., please understand that the next installment may be delayed by a week. Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it!


	5. Chapter 5

  

 

 

Jensen loomed over the bound man and found himself once again staring into eyes whose color he never could decipher. Bits of green and gold and blue fought for dominance with none ever a clear victor. He narrowed his eyes, not quite believing what was before him; that kneeling on the floor in a dirty, dusty heap was the only person to have ever captured his heart and also the only person to have betrayed Jensen most abhorrently.

“What is this?” he repeated, so startled after hearing his name whispered past cracked lips he thought he’d never see again that he inadvertently had slipped back into speaking his mother’s tongue – English.

“Jensen?” the disheveled boy asked again, looking up at him through his lank and sweat-clumped fringe, longer, Jensen idly noted, than the last time they’d seen one another.

Gazing into those mesmerizing eyes, Jensen felt himself unwillingly slip into the past.

**_Somerset, England in the summer of 1851_ **

_The carriage clomped along at a steady pace, the rhythm soothing and familiar to Jensen. Even if everything else around him was foreign, the gait and step of a horse grounded him in the known. And, of course, the snoring. He couldn’t help but smile at the sound. He turned away from the window to study the man seated across from him. Puffing away, face squashed against the leather-padded interior of their private, Clarence brougham, Jensen’s Oxford University roommate slept undisturbed._

_Although younger than Jensen by two years, James Padalecki was already pursuing advanced studies in medicine, while Jensen had just completed his freshman year. Because of the outrageous overcrowding at college, Jensen had been placed with James since Padalecki had somehow managed to acquire housing with two bedrooms. Jensen had expected a certain amount of derision on the part of his new roommate given Jensen’s background and he suspected being such a mature freshman would only have added to it. Bracing himself for the inevitable kerfuffle, Jensen had been surprised when their meeting did not go as anticipated._

_One of the deans had brought him round to make the formal introductions. The grey-haired gentleman had been the picture of propriety while accompanying Jensen and yet had still managed to make his disdain for his duties clear. Jensen knew several of the deans had opposed his entry to the college, ostensibly pointing out that at twenty-six, Jensen was far older than the other students and not an appropriate match. It was a polite way of covering up the fact that no one on the board knew quite what to do with the son of a sheikh amongst Oxford’s finest and brightest. But a special dispensation had been granted Jensen after his father had made a generous gift to the school. The monies had smoothed his way in, but it was distinctly apparent feathers were still ruffled. Jensen shored himself up; he was made of stern enough stuff. The dean next to him couldn’t rattle his comportment and whatever bigoted person he would have to share rooms with wouldn’t, either. He was Jensen Ackles, the son of Sheikh Ankour, after all._

_ _

_At the curt knock on his door, James Padalecki had flung it open, stock askew with his dark hair mussed and demanded to know what the disturbance was about. Jensen was somewhat shocked to find he needed to glance up to look the other man in the eye. At over six feet in height, Jensen did not have that happen often. The other man had to be at least six and a half feet tall, he wagered, and his uncombed mane only added to his overall tallness. Jensen stood straighter and prepared for the scathing gaze he had grown quickly accustomed to receiving since he’d arrived in England. But said gaze never came._

_The bothered man had simply swept his eyes dispassionately up and down Jensen once, perhaps lingering a trifle over the white kufiya that stood in stark contrast to Jensen’s somber yet fashionable dove-gray suit, and stepped aside in a gesture of acquiescence. The dean appeared happy enough to wash his hands of the whole affair and took his leave immediately, evidently content to let the two students rehash their arrangements themselves._

_“You must be Jensen,” his new roommate said, thrusting his hand out firmly._

_Jensen hesitated for a beat before allowing his hand to be swallowed up in the other’s grip. No one had offered him the common curtesy as easily as the young man before him. “Yes, yes, I am.”_

_Jensen smiled as he regarded his sleeping and currently drooling companion. That handshake had been the beginning of his first adult friendship. Jensen’s background had come up soon enough – impossible not to – over the course of their first semester together, but not in a manner Jensen had anticipated. Instead of the surreptitious and not-so-surreptitious glances he sometimes bore from others, all Jensen had to deal with was James’ focused and genuine curiosity about Jensen’s history. And before either man was aware of it, they were both bonding over a shared frustration with their sires and an appreciation of fine brandy and cheroots._

_While Jensen had fought long and hard to escape from under his father’s watchful expectations, he found a kindred spirit in James. The younger man had also struggled and sacrificed much to pursue his dreams in the medical field, to the extent of almost alienating himself entirely from his family. Apparently neither James’ father nor Jensen’s appreciated the idea of their eldest seeking any kind of life that differed from the course of assuming the family mantle. While Jensen’s father had eventually conceded to his son’s wishes to pursue a “more well-rounded” – Jensen’s words – education outside the influence of home and hearth, James’ father hadn’t entirely. It, to hear James tell the story, had finally been James’ younger sibling, Jared, who had stepped up and eased relations between father and first-born._

_“The little scoundrel softened up the old man enough that we’re speaking civilly again,” James had admitted once, when deep in his cups. “I don’t know how he managed to please our father, but I do know Jared has borne the brunt of Father's disapproval alone and even feels guilty about my career choices, so he diligently tries to calm the waters at every opportunity.”_

_“How could the lad possibly hold himself to blame for your decisions?” Jensen had wondered._

_Raking long fingers through his dark hair, James had sighed. “When Jared was twelve, he became very ill. Raging fevers and terrible stomach pains. After a week without a respite, the family physician was called in to consult, but, according to my parents, the man was never able to properly diagnose what plagued Jared.”_

_Even after several years, it was obvious to Jensen that James was still disturbed by the event. “But he recovered,” Jensen prodded._

_“Yes, as fit as a fiddle now. No thanks to that old quack,” James hissed. “And it stayed with me, you know?” James had turned soulful, hazel eyes toward Jensen. “Jared might have died and no one would have known why, short of carving him up after, and maybe not even then. So I began to dwell on the matter, and soon enough, the very notion of balancing ledgers and finding ways to earn a schilling here, save a penny there, became unbearable. I couldn’t see the value in it. I couldn’t follow in my father’s footsteps. I wasn’t a company man._

_“But discovering what made a body tick and how to fix it,” his eyes had gleamed then and, for the one and only time, Jensen felt the thrum of sexual attraction towards his roommate. An attraction he stifled almost instantaneously, not wanting to jeopardize over a tumble the bond of friendship they had forged, but the passion the younger man displayed was alluring nonetheless. “I knew that was the path I was meant to take.”_

_Of course, watching James now, nose pushed to the side and a faint trail of saliva shining along his chin and jaw, Jensen was hard pressed to muster his former desire. He smirked, amazed as always at the man’s ability to sleep so soundly when the opportunity arose. Despite the jostling of the carriage, James snored on, happily oblivious to everything. He had once told Jensen that a favorite professor had said during his first lecture that one should always sleep whenever possible as the life of a physician was demanding and one never knew when one might be called to service or for how long. It was a lesson, he explained to Jensen, he found very easy to take to heart._

_Letting his gaze drift back to the carriage window, Jensen soaked up the countryside. It was his first foray outside the city and although he wouldn’t admit it to a soul, the rolling green was almost overwhelming after a lifetime of golden sand. The lushness was intoxicating and he wished, not for the first time, to be able to lower a window and take in the scents and sounds as well. He couldn’t get enough of it all and was once again grateful for James’ generosity._

_When the summer break had arrived, the few months between classes weren’t enough for Jensen to travel home and return. He had known from the outset of his educational pursuit that once he had arrived, he would remain until he finished and had planned accordingly, securing a small townhouse in London to pass the time until the autumn curriculum resumed. He had even been invited to attend a few soirees and such by the handful of open-minded classmates he had met over the school year. And a few of the less than stellar ones had offered as well; those seeking to shock their families and friends with his presence or appear more liberal and worldly. He knew he would manage to pass the time in some form or fashion taking in the museums and galleries, but when James, whose studies also broke during the summer months due to the inability in the heat to maintain cadavers fresh enough for studying for any significant length of time, had invited him to summer with his family at their country home in Somerset, he had readily accepted. And lest that Jensen feel as though the offer was merely charity, James made sure to impress upon him the need for a buffer between him and his parents, or he might go stark, raving mad and end up in Bedlam. He had punctuated the last statement by dragging his hands through his hair to snarl his locks and give him the appearance of a lunatic. Jensen couldn’t deny that his friend occasionally had a flair for the theatric._

_Although James had groused a tad over the nearly ten hour carriage ride from Oxford to his family’s summer home, Daylesford Manor House, Jensen had been ecstatic. James had chuckled, shrugged while saying “to each their own”, and promptly fallen asleep once comfortably ensconced in their transportation. What James didn’t grasp, nor did others who seemed to have a more romantic, skewed vision of the desert, was that an Arab longed for water and green trees as much as the next man. The desert held nothing, Jensen believed, and he had never met a man who needed nothing. So the journey had been absorbing._

_Too soon for Jensen’s taste, their carriage departed the main thoroughfare and slowed down significantly. The change in motion was surprisingly enough for James to rouse. Jensen snickered as his friend absently rubbed the moisture off his chin._

_“You might have gotten rid of the drool, my dear James, but your face will never recover in time,” he quipped. Crisscrossing the right side of James’ head was the imprint of the upholstery’s design as though he’d been branded by it._

_James caught onto his meaning and slapped his cheek briskly several times before finally shrugging, “Ah, well, it’s not as though I can make a good impression at this late date. Besides, Gigglemug loves me regardless.”_

_Before Jensen could even begin to ask James about the odd name, his roommate grabbed his forearm and tugged excitedly. “There it is,” he breathed. Jensen twisted so that he was facing the same direction as James and saw, in the not far distance, the Padaleckis’ summer home._

_Set back behind a sprawling rose garden and hedge maze, the three story stone manor house was an impressive sight. Jensen recalled James mentioning some fifteen bedrooms and four receiving halls alone. Although not a castle, the home was still quite grand and somewhat ostentatious._

_“It was constructed in the 17 th century,” James explained, “but my father rebuilt the court in the Tudor style not long before I was born, although the main hall is still Jacobian. The exterior is all Old Red Sandstone he acquired locally.” Jensen smiled at the enthusiasm James had for the actual structure, if not his parents, and chuckled._

_“What’s so humorous?” he asked, cocking a brow at Jensen._

_“Just that both our fathers apparently have a penchant for sandstone. Much of my father’s…home,” and he paused over the word, because “home” was not what it was, “is also local sandstone.”_

_ _

_Before James could question him more, the carriage came round to the front of the manor and slowed to a stop. Jensen ducked his head for another look and there, waiting at the top of the stairs, was James’ little brother. Jensen easily recognized the lad from the daguerreotype James kept propped on his desk. Jensen had studied it more than once over the course of the school year and easily spotted the familial resemblance. The lad, ten years Jensen’s junior, had the same unruly tresses and cleft chin as his brother. But where James’ face and jaw was more square, Jared’s was almost elvish and vulpine. He had little time to see much else as the boy practically flew down the steps, a blur of brown tweed, shouting, “James!” Likewise, his older brother flung open the carriage door, mindless of the crack it made against the body of the vehicle when he did so, and rushed to meet Jared. Jensen watched as James scooped Jared up into a fierce hug and spun them both around several times. Between the breathless laughter and the glimpse he caught of the boy’s dimples, Jensen understood James’ choice of nickname for the lad._

_Adjusting his kufiya, Jensen was about to step down when he caught sight of what must have been the Padaleckis. George, dressed in dark blue, and his wife Elizabeth, also in a gown of matching hue, stood stiffly at the top of the stairs. James’ father observed his only children embrace and Jensen thought he caught the hint of a scowl, before the older man schooled his features into something more neutral as they marched slowly down the stairs. Jensen suspected things were about to get even more awkward and he had honestly debated to himself about wearing the traditional headdress of his father’s people for their first introductions, but decided it was a part of who he was and he wouldn’t hide that. He had made enough of a concession by donning his charcoal grey suit. He exited the carriage proudly._

_As several servants rushed to the covered carriage to bring down the luggage from the roof, Jensen heard the elder Padalecki scold his oldest._

_“James, put him down before you make the boy sick,” he ordered. Knowing how James felt about his baby brother’s health, Jensen thought the reprimand a cruel and calculated one._

_James, smiling  a little less broadly, did as his father bid him, although Jensen noted Jared kept a tight grip on his older brother’s arm as though James might disappear on him at any moment. “It’s good to see you, too, Father,” James quipped, apparently no longer willing to be cowed by his father. He shook the man’s hand briskly, before moving to bend down and kiss his mother’s pale cheek with a softly murmured, “Mother.”_

_Standing aside slightly, James turned back towards Jensen . “And let me formally introduce you to my roommate Jensen Ackles.”_

_Jensen moved forward and offered his hand to the senior Padalecki, noting that tiny moue of distaste make a brief reappearance on the man’s face. Jensen would have to be blind to have missed the way he stared pointedly at Jensen’s kufiya. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen offered. The man nodded curtly. Jensen was not surprised there was no offer to refer to him as anything less formal than that. And, although the Padalecki patriarch stood slightly taller than him, Jensen didn’t let that fact intimidate him in the least._

_He swiveled with a slight flourish, took hold of Mrs. Padalecki’s hand and drew it towards his lips. She dropped her eyes and a faint blush stole across her cheeks at the chivalrous gesture even though she hadn’t initiated it as decorum demanded. A second look at Jensen’s attire had her swiftly retracting her slim fingers after his lips brushed them._

_Undeterred, Jensen turned further to face the youngest member of the family. He was prepared to catch the same carefully hidden revulsion in the lad’s eyes. After all, living with parents such as these, how could the lad be anything but like his parents? Tucked slightly behind his older brother, Jared peered around James to stare at Jensen. Not nearly as tall as James or his father, he stood a few inches shorter than Jensen. But, as Jensen quickly surmised with a look, the hint of their height was already there in the length and breadth of the boy’s slender limbs. If possible, his dark hair was an even more unruly tangle than James’ was. He had his father’s coloring, but his features more closely resembled his mother’s. Not delicate, by any stretch of the word, but not as blunt as the other Padalecki men. And his eyes…Jensen couldn’t decide just what color they were. It was as if Jared couldn’t, either. Blues and greens dominated, but there were hints of brown and gold as well._

_“Pleasure to meet you, Jared,” Jensen finally thought to say, snapping himself out of his reverie and offering his hand._

_Jared slowly stepped forward and timidly accepted the handshake. Internally, Jensen sighed at the boy’s reticence. Seemed he was his father’s child after all. He was disappointed even as he felt a prickle of something pass between them when the lad’s slender fingers slipped into his grip. The digits could belong to a pianist, Jensen debated, or a violinist, with their nimble strength. He released Jared’s hand and was startled when he felt the boy’s fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary. He looked sharply at the lad and noticed a petal pink stain seep across his face. There he stood, blushing not unlike his mother had only a minute earlier._

_That, Jensen thought, was unexpected._

_The odd tableau was broken when Mrs. Padalecki spoke. “They are setting up tea in the salon,” she informed them, ever the proper hostess, and fussed momentarily with her light brown curls. “I’m certain you two would appreciate some refreshments after the long journey.” The servants, baggage in hand, silently passed alongside the others into the house._

_Tucking his little brother in close, James agreed. “Sounds wonderful, Mother. I could do with some good food for a change. Come on, Jensen.”_

_“If you don’t mind, I think I would like to stretch my legs after the trip. Take in a portion of your lovely grounds,” Jensen told them. He wanted a few minutes to collect himself._

_“Of course,” James agreed before either parent could voice an objection. “If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d join you after that ride.”_

_Hiding a laugh, Jensen easily replied, “When are you not hungry?”_

_Tapping his stomach, James agreed. “I’m still a growing boy.”_

_Slipping discreetly from James’ hold, Jared quietly stepped back. “Someone should probably accompany you in case you get lost,” he offered in a small voice._

_Jensen tried a second time not to laugh. It was still quite light out, with the summer sun hanging low and fat above the horizon, and the manor was impossible to miss, so he wasn’t completely sure how the boy thought Jensen could be daft enough to lose his way. But he kindly didn’t say any of that._

_“I would appreciate the company,” is what came out of his mouth instead. Jared ducked his head shyly._

_James glanced from Jensen to his little brother and then back again. Even though he had only been home for a matter of minutes, he assumed the role of mediator. “I’d keep a keen eye on that one, Jensen,” he warned with a nod to his only sibling, “or you’ll end up stranded in the maze with neither hide nor hair of Jared in sight.”_

_Jared dropped his eyes to the ground and scuffed at the pebbles. “One time…” he mumbled._

_James ruffled his hair good-naturedly before moving to stand between his parents. “I’m simply saying to mind your back, Jensen.” Turning towards his parents, he ushered them along. “Now, about the tea…” As the three walked away, Jensen couldn’t help but catch a snatch of the elder Padalecki’s conversation with James._

_“From your correspondence, we understood him to be foreign, but we weren’t expecting him to be that foreign…”_

_The sigh escaped Jensen’s lips before he could stop it. Perhaps accepting James’ offer had been a mistake after all. He wasn’t sure he would be able to maintain a façade of civility for the entire summer. His mind was whirling with possible ruses he might be able to conjure up to cut short his summer holiday when a soft cough broke his concentration._

_“Shall we?” Jared murmured, arm outstretched and indicating the nearby rose garden. The look on his face was almost pained. Jensen nodded, more certain than ever that a hastily concocted emergency would need to arise within a fortnight at the latest to extract him from the bosom of the Padalecki brood._

_Jensen nodded and the two walked towards the lavish display of botanical beauty. The carriage pulled away, wheels crunching gravel and the horses nickering softly. Jensen momentarily wished he could leave with it. Jared, seemingly at a loss for what to do with his hands, eventually clasped them behind his back and kept apace of Jensen. Nearing the lovely blooms, Jensen immediately smelled their heady scents and heard the lazy buzzing of insects, but rather than appreciate it all as he had wanted to during the carriage ride, he found the flowers’ perfume to be heavy and sickly-sweet and the buzz of the bees annoying._

_“The blossoms are quite lovely,” he began, searching for something to break the awkward silence._

_“I’m so sorry,” Jared said simultaneously._

_Jensen came to a complete stop. “Pardon me?”_

_The youngest Padalecki rolled his lower lip under his front teeth and gnawed on the flesh. It was an obvious, nervous gesture and yet Jensen briefly entertained the thought of doing the same thing, wondering what that pink mouth might taste like._

_“I’m so very sorry about that,” he continued, oblivious to Jensen’s rapt attention of his abused skin. He jerked his head toward the direction of the manor house, while sneaking a quick glance back at it, as though his father might somehow sense his youngest’s treasonous apology and storm out. “They can be less than understanding at times. And I’m sorry on their behalf.” With that, Jared thrust out his hand again, offering another handshake to Jensen._

_Jensen dragged his thoughts away from his less than proper daydream and returned the grasp. As Jared peered up at him through his wavy fringe, Jensen was reminded of James’ words; that his brother had softened up their father to mend the fences damaged between them. It became crystal clear to Jensen that James was not the mediator of the family, but the young man standing before him was. Although not brave enough to face his father’s wrath outright, he was still willing to offer apologies to an injured party on behalf of the man. Jensen wondered just how often Jared had been placed in that position and how far he would go to keep the peace. Well, Jensen decided, he could at least ease the boy’s conscience even though the act of contrition didn’t come from the one who should have been offering it._

_“No offence taken,” Jensen lied smoothly, briskly shaking the lad’s hand. His falsehood was rewarded by twin dimples slicing divots into the boy’s pink cheeks. At the sight, Jensen’s smile became more genuine. “Now, shall we walk for a bit before they send out the hounds to drag us back inside?” Jensen suggested._

_Jared’s stance relaxed and he let a giggle sneak out. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he agreed, suddenly a co-conspirator and not a host._

_They ambled about the garden for nearly a half hour. Once the awkwardness of Jensen’s introductions had been addressed, the two slipped into easy conversation. In fact, Jensen grew certain that Jared surpassed James in terms of unbridled curiosity. As though a dam had broken, the lad peppered Jensen with question after question, ranging from the flora and fauna of the Arabian Peninsula to temperature and religion. Jensen was impressed by the thoughtfulness of his inquiries. His keenness apparently knew no bounds and, with his occasionally wild gestures, Jensen couldn’t help but picture him as a pup, eager and joyful and endearing._

_“You seem to know something of my land already,” Jensen finally admitted. “More, at least, than the average person does.”_

_Jared ducked his head, and Jensen realized that any sort of praise flustered the young man. He filed that behavior away for future reference._

_“I might have snuck into my father’s library on more than one occasion,” Jared finally admitted, “to study his globe, when James’ letters weren’t explicit enough. And I read some of his copy of_ The Arabian Nights' Entertainment _,” Jared paused, “but I know that those are probably more fairytale than fact.”_

_Jensen’s brain stuck on the fact that Jared had been asking his older brother about him, and more than once from the sounds of it. Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because Jared grew quiet. “What are you thinking?” he finally asked._

_“That you are nothing like your parents,” Jensen replied. When Jared lowered his head, Jensen couldn’t help himself. He placed one, rough finger under the boy’s cleft chin and tilted it back up. “That’s not a bad thing, Jared,” he explained gently, meeting and holding the boy’s gaze for several heartbeats_

_The boy flushed again and stammered, “W-we should probably make our way back before they really do send out the dogs.” And he turned so abruptly, he lost his footing and landed ungraciously on his backside. Jensen tried very hard not to chuckle. He didn’t succeed._

_Flustered, Jared sat there, staring up while Jensen let out a laugh that was so carefree and genuine that the lad didn’t know what to do. Finally, a smile grew on his face and he eventually joined in._

_“Come on,” Jensen finally offered, extending his hand down to the smiling boy. When their fingers met, Jensen once again felt that tingle and it seemed as though Jared did, too._

_Staring up at him with his enchanting eyes, he whispered, “Jensen.”_

*****

“Jensen,” Jared repeated for a third time, bringing Jensen back to the here and now.

He was not in an English rose garden, smelling rich aromas, nor was the person at his feet the same sixteen-year-old he had known. But that was all right.

Jensen wasn’t the same man, either, and it was time for Jared to learn exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although Daylesford Manor House is fictitious, its description (and the photo) is based on the very real Cefntilla Court, located in Monmouthshire, Wales.
> 
> As an aside, the house is currently on the market for £1.6 million. Happy bidding!


	6. Chapter 6

 

Shadows crept long and strange across the carpet strewn floor. The ones from the potted ferns looked especially like skeletal claws snagging at the baroque rugs Jensen’s father had spent years amassing. Facing the horizon, Jensen tasted sand and dust when he breathed in. The faintest breeze stirred the thick, maroon drapes that separated the main room from the terrace, currently pushed aside to let in the warm, gilded light of the setting sun. That slight wavering motion was the only hint of the lingering presence of the Barih Thorayya. The second windstorm of summer had been unusually mild this year and some of the older women clucked in hushed tones, while preparing meals or washing clothes, that the Al-Dabaran – the Follower – would be all the more ferocious because of it at the end of the month. It was of no import to Jensen, however. What would be would be, he believed, and the man at his feet was obvious proof of that.

With infinitely slow deliberateness, Jensen circled the bound man as a leopard might its fallen prey, his sandals slapping succinctly like Maelzel's Metronome as he did so. He saw how Jared struggled to follow his movements, twisting his head back and forth in an attempt to track him, but the men at his sides kept him still. Jensen’s jaw clenched unconsciously at their actions. But the leisurely pass revealed much to him. Jared was dirty, his expensive clothing torn in a few spots and stained, suit coat completely missing, hair wild and unkempt. He’d been sick; the sour stench of vomit still clung to him. And he reeked of sweat.

 _Probably from fear_ , Jensen thought dispassionately. _Good. Let him be afraid._

But there were subtler changes that the year’s passage since they had last been in each other’s presence had wrought on him as well. Jensen didn’t miss the slight hardening of the boy’s jaw, still more narrow than his brother or father, but changed. And, if possible, the unusual – almost exotic, one might say – tilt to his eyes was more pronounced. His messy hair was longer, the fringe a much better curtain for hiding behind than when he’d last seen the lad. He idly wondered how much better Jared had become at concealing things now; he was nearly a master last summer.

As he came back to his starting point, he watched as Jared lifted his head and stared at him with his kaleidoscope eyes. Jensen met the gaze unflinchingly as his mind swirled with possibilities. Of all the people who could have ended up here, helpless at his feet, fate had brought him Jared. It was as though divine intervention was giving him the chance to reap his revenge; to finally pull the thorn from his heart and put an end to his misery. Without meaning to, the corners of his lips started to curl upwards in delight. Jared caught the change in expression and responded; a hint of a smile danced across his parched mouth. But the longer the boy looked at Jensen, the more quickly his smile was extinguished before ever fully coming to life. Jensen knew there was no warmth in his countenance and apparently Jared had finally recognized that fact.

 _Good_ , Jensen thought again.

“Jensen,” Jared croaked and made as if to rise, struggling to find his balance with his hands still bound behind him. Jensen had no plans to change his predicament anytime in the near future. The men flanking him reacted quicker than striking snakes to his efforts and clamped their hands upon his shoulders, slamming him back to the floor. The hard crack of his knees when they hit the polished sandstone was unmistakable.

Bending down to peer squarely into Jared’s face, Jensen snapped, “You will address me as ‘Sheikh Ankour’ or ‘Sheikh’.” Gripping Jared’s chin roughly, ignoring the soft skin beneath his thumb and forefinger, he told the boy, “There is no Jensen for you here.” He released his hold on the younger man’s jaw with a rough shake and stood tall, dark robes flaring around him like the wings of a hawk.

Jared swallowed visibly, fear practically rolling off him in thick waves. Licking his lips, he cleared his throat and Jensen waited to hear the boy beg sweetly; craved to hear his terror.

“Sheikh Ankour,” he rasped and Jensen fleetingly wondered if his voice was deeper because of his age or because of thirst, “I demand to –”

“You don’t demand here, little lord,” Jensen seethed, looming over him. _How like his father_ , Jensen raged inside, _to demand_. “I would weigh my words very cautiously, Padalecki.”

Jensen watched as Jared flinched at the moniker as though he had been struck. But, as he continued to stare him down, Jared squared his shoulders as best he could with two guards holding him, and raised his face in defiance.

“I demand, Sheikh Ankour,” and Jensen did not miss the slight impudence he laced the title with, “to learn the whereabouts of my travelling companions. I demand,” he continued with growing conviction, “to know of their welfare.”

Jensen, hands balled into fists, whirled away from Jared. He needed a moment to quell his fury; he was practically vibrating from it and had nearly struck Jared when he had heard the word “demand” slip from his dusty, pink lips a second time after he had been warned against it. He wouldn’t lose control like that in front of his men, however. The older man stepped over to one of the bookcases set into the far wall and pretended to regard the colorful volumes that were lined up before him. A Dickens in red, an Edgar Allen Poe in midnight blue, a collection of Shakespeare bound in green leather, a most treasured copy of Ibn al-Nafis’ _Al-Risalah al-Kamiliyyah fil Siera al-Nabawiyyah_ in gold. And as he breathed steadily to calm his heart, the words Jared had said sunk in, their meaning clear. The boy hadn’t demanded anything for himself, which slowly came as a shock to him. He had honestly expected the first words out of Jared’s mouth to have been to plead for his release or for a drink of water, some small comfort, not to inquire about his men’s well-being. He wasn’t quite prepared for that and idly dragged a finger down the well-worn spine of _The Last Days of Pompeii_ by Bulwer-Lytton, looking for the entire world like someone searching for a tale to pass the evening hours, looking like the master of his domain without a care or concern.

From behind him, he heard Jared clearing his throat. “Please, Sheikh,” and this time, his dry voice held no impudence, only concern, “please tell me what has happened to them.”

Still with his back to the boy, Jensen debated what to divulge. He himself was somewhat in the dark. The few, hurried words he’d shared between himself and Nasih had revealed very little, other than that he and his men had brought Jensen a “special visitor”. Discreetly, he glanced at the tall man on Jared’s left. Nasih seemed to recognize the unasked question and, after checking to make sure Jared wasn’t watching, nodded in the affirmative to Jensen. With that confirmation, he realized he could keep silent or worse, let Jared think something horrible had befallen the men for their misfortunate association with him. And Jensen could let those thoughts torture him, but, in the end, he wasn’t quite able to resist the tug that worried tone had on him. And even as his resolve softened, he simultaneously grew disgusted with himself for being so affected by the chit’s words. Spinning around, he stormed back over to Jared and smiled when he saw the lad flinch at his approach.

“They are fine. All of them,” he admitted finally, “although they are less a few beasts. It will probably take them a little longer than they anticipated to return to their homes.” Jensen smirked at Jared’s shocked look. He anticipated the lad’s fears. “They have more than enough supplies to sustain them. We’re not savages here, Jared.”

The young Englishman sagged in obvious relief. “Thank God,” came his soft exultation.

Once again, Jensen felt an almost irrational anger at the lad for his worry about someone else. His concern was surely as false as his heart and the boy had no right to play the injured party. Moving to sit on one of the settees beside a low table, Jensen crossed his legs slowly, leaned an arm against the tabletop and steepled his hands, tapping his fingers against his full lips. “If I were you, I would be more concerned regarding my own fate.” His voice was low and threatening, in direct contrast to his indolent pose.

Jensen’s tone seemed to strike a chord with Jared and he eagerly observed the boy as he swiped at his dry lips before rolling the lower one into his mouth and biting at it. Almost against his will, Jensen felt his groin stir at the sight and an idea began to take root.

Straightening his spine, Jared did his best to appear resolved. “Name your price. I’m quite sure my family could easily meet any demands you might make for a ransom. I am certain you recollect how well off we are,” he added and there was a flash of something in Jared’s eyes that Jensen was unable to decipher.

In a heartbeat, the sheikh was up and had a handful of Jared’s lank hair in his iron grip. He yanked roughly, pulling the younger man’s head back, and that elicited a hiss of pain from the boy. Even as he did so, his fingers brushed against a lump near the base of the lad’s skull and something tacky beneath it. Subtly adjusting his hold to avoid the obvious wound, Jensen glared at Jared menacingly.

“There isn’t enough coin in the world to buy your freedom, Jared. There is nothing,” he grit out, “that your family could possibly offer me that was more valuable than what I now possess.” Jared’s hazel eyes widened and his lower lip trembled.

Jensen released his grasp and he made a show of wiping the semi-dried blood staining his fingers onto the side of his dark robe. “I would think,” and he nodded towards Jared’s face, “that you would have already learnt your lesson about escaping. There is no way out for you, boy.”

Jensen expected Jared to plead his case, make ridiculous promises that Jensen had no intention of accepting, but longed to hear. He did not expect the boy to grow defiant.

“That,” Jared spat with a derisive jerk of his chin towards Jensen’s soiled robe, “was not from trying to escape.” Jared grew straight once again despite the weight of Nasih and Qasim’s hold. “That was when I confronted a thief head on and demanded the return of my property. I was struck from _behind_ for all my efforts.” Shrugging his shoulders somewhat free, he continued, “I seem to recall you telling me family and honor were ideals you held close to your heart, Sheikh. Apparently, those that do your bidding are not cut of the same cloth. Or maybe,” he debated, almost as an afterthought, “they merely follow your example.”

Jensen raised his hand back and Jared recoiled slightly. Curling his fingers in, Jensen reined in his temper after some effort. That was twice in a matter of minutes that he had come within inches of striking Jared. And damn the boy for affecting him so in front of his men. But his words stung. Theft was an affront to his name and pride and if his men were guilty, there would be the devil to pay. But not in front of the young Englishman. Justice would be meted out later.

“What did they take from you, little lord, that would be worth the effort of you dirtying your hands to retrieve? I would think someone of your station would simply shrug it off and purchase a replacement when he had the chance. I didn’t think you truly cared for anything all that much to actually put up a fight for it.” Turning away, Jensen added, “That is certainly the impression you left me with during our last encounter.” Jensen refused to meet the boy’s eyes at his last admission. He didn’t want to see into Jared’s heart any more than he wanted Jared to see into his at that moment.

“My father’s watch,” was the eventual, nearly-whispered reply.

Jensen couldn’t contain his surprise and spun around. “Is the watch his legacy?” Jensen hated that damn thing. Always on his person, George Padalecki had snapped the gold cover shut whenever he felt the need to dismiss Jensen from his presence, as though the act would force him to disappear like a djinn back into his lamp. That insufferable sound had grated on his nerves and tested the thin veneer of Jensen’s civility to its limits.

Jared lowered his eyes back to the smooth floor. “No, he still lives,” he murmured.

“So, simply a reward for his little man then. For doing something so very good to make Daddy proud of you?” Jensen started to circle Jared again, enjoying the way the boy squirmed and wouldn’t meet his eye. Several servants slipped into the room, lighting candles and the hanging oil lamps to chase away the gathering gloom. Their presence was hardly noticed as the warm glow of flames offset the dwindling daylight. Salat al-maghrib would begin soon. They disappeared as silently as they had entered.

“What I did to deserve it is not your affair,” Jared rasped. “I want my property returned. All of it.”

“You won’t need it any longer,” the older man pronounced. “Watches, after all, are used to mark the passing of time.” Leaning low enough so that his lips almost brushed the shell of Jared’s left ear, Jensen whispered, “Time, my dear Jared, has now lost all meaning for you.” He held his spot, letting his warm breath puff against the lad’s ear and enjoyed the shiver he saw in response. Whether it was because of his nearness or his words didn’t matter to Jensen. Simply the reaction was enough.

He then drew himself up, clapped his hands and shouted, “Wisdom! Worthy!”

It only took a few moments for two very large men to enter the sheikh’s receiving chamber. Both were dressed nearly identically in loose, amethyst-dyed pants with matching vests trimmed in gold brocade, their bald pates covered in very modest turbans. They also shared similar gold earrings, but Worthy alone sported golden cuffs on his biceps as befit his station. They came to stand at ease a few feet from Jensen, silent as statues.

“These men originally hailed from Abyssinia, but were taken at a young age to the monastery at Abou-Gerghè where they were…trained for their current duties,” Jensen explained, pausing slightly in the retelling. He was personally horrified by the method with which the men, then young boys, had been castrated, but he could no more turn back the hands of time than the next man. Like many things about the situation he had found himself thrust into nearly a year ago, he was learning to navigate the murky waters of what was and wasn’t within his purview.

“The Coptic priests renamed them ‘Wisdom’ and ‘Worthy’, perhaps because the old men there had a mawkish side. Worthy,” he gestured to the man with the gold arm bands, who stood a shade taller than Wisdom, “is the Dar al-Saada Ağası. Chief of the eunuchs,” he elaborated for Jared’s benefit and was rewarded with a shudder from the boy. “They will escort you to the seraglio.” Jared’s face blanched at that decree.

Jensen spoke rapidly to the men in Arabic and they nodded in agreement. Moving silently, they replaced Nasih and Qasim, each seizing one of Jared’s biceps and hoisting him up. Jensen was momentarily startled to see that, once on his shaky feet, Jared stood taller than he did, but he masked his reaction with a smirk.

A soon as the men started to march Jared away, the boy turned his head frantically back to shout over his shoulder, “Jensen, what is this?”

“Qif!” Jensen ordered and the men obeyed, coming to a halt. “You’re to join my…” and Jensen tapped a finger thoughtfully against his lips, “what did you call it again?” While he pretended to try and recover the memory, he walked in a leisurely manner over to them. Jared struggled in the men’s immoveable hold to no avail and Jensen loved every minute of the lad’s discomfort.

Snapping his fingers, Jensen smiled maliciously, “You’re to become the newest edition to my ‘collection of three-penny uprights’. Isn’t that what you called the harem, Jared? Whores?”

If possible, Jared paled even further. “Jensen,” he whispered and his eyes grew wide, finally the pleading Jensen had craved. “Please, don’t…”

“Imshi!” Jensen snapped and the two eunuchs followed the command and left, easily hauling the writhing, frightened boy out of the room. Jensen stood for a minute and watched them leave.

“‘And in thirst, and in nakedness, and in want of all things: and he shall put a yoke of iron upon thy neck, until he have destroyed thee’,” Jensen murmured, quoting from the _Book of Deuteronamy_ , all the while distractedly rubbing his fingers, which still carried a trace of Jared’s blood on them, against his bisht. The spot was practically invisible on the black material of the outer robe. His smile vanished much more rapidly than he would have expected. After all, this was a fantasy he had dreamed of for eleven months, never believing it would ever become reality and yet it had. It was probably the task at hand that had ruined the moment, he told himself.

Turning back to the two remaining men, he reverted to Arabic and addressed Nasih, who was his second as he had been his father’s. “Explain. From the beginning.”

The older man, taller than Jensen, dipped his head and drew a deep breath. “We were patrolling the area west of Khawr al Udayd as you commanded and came upon a small caravan. Suspecting them to be supplying the Bani Yas, we descended on them to inspect their goods and demand an explanation for their presence. They were defensive and refused our questions. Then the Englishman revealed himself, brandishing his papers,” Nasih finished.

Jensen sighed deeply. He could picture how it had all transpired. Like other sheikhs in the region, Jensen did his part to stop provisions from reaching the piratical Bani Yas that had taken up residence in Khawr al Udayd. Seventeen years ago, the problem had been so severe that the Royal Navy had intervened and then demanded the Qatari sheikhs cut off any aid the tribe might be receiving locally and seize what ships they could. For a time, the pirates had slowed their activities, but had been on the rise in recent years. And later this year the Trucial Sheikhdoms were poised to sign a perpetual maritime truce with Great Britain. Tribes would no longer wage coastal wars amongst themselves and British ships were to be granted complete protection in their waters. Under the treaty’s auspices, disputes amongst the sheikhs would be resolved by the British. Jensen and other nearby sheikhs were more than willing to do what they could to curtail problems locally to assure that the British kept their noses firmly out of Qatar as much as possible, now more than ever.

“And the Englishman?” Jensen demanded. “Did he speak the truth? Did you steal from him?”

“No,” Nasih spat. “I took what was mine by right! He _is_ the East India Company!”

Jensen dragged his hand down hard over his mouth, feeling the hairs of his mostly ginger beard bristle against his fingers. He understood this as well. Thirty-three years ago, several sheikhs of the settlements along the Trucial Coast signed the first of the maritime treaties with England, promising the British protection for their ships against piracy. Bahrain signed on, but Qatar did not. The British mistakenly thought of Qatar as a dependency to Bahrain and assumed Bahrain’s commitment included Qatar by default, which it did not. So when there was an attack on an East India Company ship by some Qataris, a year later, in 1821, an E.I.C. vessel bombarded Al Biddah and razed the town in retribution they had no right to claim. Hundreds lost everything and had to flee to islands between Qatar and the Trucial Coast.

Nasih, over ten years Jensen’s senior, was a small child at the time. He and his family lost everything and even though the English were in the wrong, they never made amends. There were many others like him who had neither forgotten nor forgiven what transpired over thirty years ago. And there was Jared, strutting around and waving his father’s company in Nasih’s face. Of course the man wanted reparations and Jared had presented him with the perfect opportunity to seize them. Jensen understood, sympathized even, but he couldn’t let the matter go.

“Give me everything you took from him,” he said evenly. Nasih clenched his jaw, but lowered his head obediently before leaving the room. Jensen sighed. Qasim remained silent, but his pallor had become wan, making the knotted, twisted rope of a scar on his pasty cheek more prominent. Always an impetuous one, Jensen thought, and he bore more than one mark for that on his person.

It only took a minute for the other man to return. With both hands, he held out a small, wrapped bundle for Jensen to take, which he quickly placed on the nearby table. In the process, Jared’s ornate pen case tumbled free. Jensen stared at it for several, long moments before finally, almost against his will, tentatively traced a finger along the golden word written in the center. As he did so, he noticed the touch of red he left behind, which blurred the script.

Jared’s blood.

Abandoning the items on the table, Jensen stiffly returned to his men. “Who struck him from behind?” he asked, voice deep and deadly.

Qasim cleared his throat nervously. “It was me, but –” he started, never getting the chance to finish whatever justification he might have offered.

The second he had begun his admission, Jensen had swung out viciously with his fist and smashed him in the face. There was the distinctive, stomach-turning crunch of bone breaking as the man staggered backward, before crashing to the floor. He stood over Qasim, frightening in his silent fury, breathing hard while the man’s blood spilled from his nose to puddle next to where he had fallen.

“He’s mine,” Jensen growled, with one hand on the bejeweled janbiya tucked in his waistband. Neither of Jensen’s men said a word, but both were shocked at his anger and Nasih’s gaze lingered on Jensen’s grip of his curved dagger. Seeming to eventually realize his loss of control, the sheikh went on to clarify, “He’s mine to hurt; mine alone to punish. No one else has that right.”

Qasim rose unsteadily to his feet, Nasih’s hand at his elbow, and both men bowed to Jensen.

“And I don’t care how you manage it, but you will return whatever camels you took to those men travelling with the Englishman. I won’t have my people turn into thieves,” he threatened.

“Yes, Sheikh,” Nasih replied.

“Get out,” Jensen demanded. The two hurried away, probably grateful to escape any further outburst, Jensen thought, suddenly weary.

Jensen stood still, looking down at his hand, covered in blood. He wiped it absently on the opposite side of Jared’s and tried not to think what that might portend. The boy was back in his life for less than an hour and already blood, both English and Arabic, had been spilled. And it was all on Jensen’s hands. He finally moved, as if in a dream, to the table where the small bundle of Jared’s possessions lay. As Jensen fingered the pitiful collection, he thought of Jared. Jared, who was currently being drawn deeper and deeper into the very heart of Jensen’s palace, taken away from everything he had ever known. Stripped of his freedom and soon to be stripped of every trapping from his former life. Never to have or know anything that wasn’t granted to him by Jensen.

The flames from the lights flickered in the soft breeze, shadows dancing madly along the walls in its wake. Somewhere in the distance, the first of the two evening prayer calls began, echoing with soft melancholy in the distance. And Jensen wondered what it all meant, wondered if it meant anything at all in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter header is a portion of the lovely work by Togman-Studio on [DeviantArt](http://togman-studio.deviantart.com/art/Oriental-palace-175367159?comments_view=1), used with permission.


	7. Chapter 7

 

  

 _This wasn’t how it was supposed to be_ , Jared thought, as he was dragged farther and farther away from Jensen. He tried to slow down his hammering heart and control his rapid breath. When he could no longer even see the room Jensen was in, his panic swelled. Twisting from one man to the other, Jared knew he couldn’t break free and attempted to reason with them instead. He didn’t know if either of them could understand English, but he had to try. “Please,” he implored the round-faced guard Jensen had called Wisdom, “this is a mistake.” The man, almost as tall as Jared, didn’t even turn and acknowledge him. He merely strode on with even steps and kept his eyes averted. Wriggling around, Jared begged the other man – the one Jensen had said was the Chief – to listen to common logic.

“You-you can’t do this,” Jared entreated him. “It isn’t right! I’m a British citizen! You can’t hold me here. I’ve done nothing wrong!” And all the while, he tugged more and more frantically against the ropes binding his wrists, feeling the hemp chafe and tear at the skin there. Although Worthy remained as silent as his companion, he did swing his head around in Jared’s direction, giving the Englishman a chance to fully study his features.

Slightly taller than his companion, Worthy appeared to be carved out of deep, rich mahogany. The man had dusty rose lips and a full mouth, but it wasn’t lined with cruelty. Much like Ibrahim, his eyes were so dark, one couldn’t separate pupil from iris. And they were topped by thick, heavy eyebrows, the only hair upon his head whatsoever. Jared hoped to find some kind of emotion there in those obsidian eyes, but they lacked expression. Jared corrected himself after studying them for a moment longer. They didn’t lack expression; they were the eyes of a man who gave nothing away. Here was someone who carried many secrets and carried them well. Without slowing down, Worthy jiggled Jared’s arm firmly and Jared ceased his useless attempts to free his hands. He wasn’t accomplishing anything other than rubbing the thin skin of his wrists raw at any rate. The man gave a subtle nod of his head in approval and they kept walking in silence.

The hallway the eunuchs marched Jared through opened up to huge, curved archways and, towards the end of the passageway, Jared could see at least two additional floors above it from the silhouette of the windows there. To his left, there was a series of mullioned windows, exposing the dark desert that held its own secrets. Alongside his right, columns separated the covered corridor from what appeared to be a large, open courtyard but Jared could make out nothing else. The collection of metal lamps that dangled from mountings near the supports revealed very little beyond the golden, puddles of illumination they cast. If he hadn’t been terrified, Jared might have been able to observe and appreciate the beauty of their design and the detailed shadows they cast. But, given his current condition, it was lost on him.

As they passed through another open doorway, there were fewer lights, and the chamber grew gloomy. No longer did it expand to a vaulting ceiling, but became oppressive in its closeness. There were no windows and only a single lamp to light the space. A man dressed much like his escorts stood guard in front of a metal, cage-like gate at the opposite end. When he saw Jared and the others approach, he leaned back and said something quietly to whoever lay beyond. There was the grating of metal on metal and the door slowly swung inward. Despite the lingering heat of the day, Jared found himself shivering as the men moved him towards it. This was it, he feared. Through that entrance was the harem. Jared had no idea what to expect, but, as he was manhandled through the door, it was not the tiny room he found himself in.

He barely realized his escorts had stopped, too busy gaping at the sight before him to notice. At least half a dozen men, some dressed like Wisdom and Worthy, some bare chested and dripping with perspiration, all bustled about the windowless chamber. A fire crackled merrily in a stone brick niche. That and one lamp provided the only illumination for the cramped quarters, which must have been a guardroom of sorts. A few of the men carried trays laden with glittering dinnerware and heaped high with food towards another doorway, where they would deposit their items and then bolt it shut behind them. Who but prisoners would be taken care of in this manner, Jared debated even as he heard the metal door clang shut behind him with a ring of grim finality.

While he stood there, pondering if all the dark-skinned men in the room were eunuchs, his gaze drifting unwillingly to dance below their waists before darting up again, Wisdom let go of his right arm and stepped behind him. Jared tensed as he heard the slow slide of metal against metal, different from the one just before. However, he breathed easier once he understood that the man was sawing at the ropes, freeing him after only a minute. Jared winced as he slowly rotated his shoulders to ease their stiffness and when he brought his arms forward, began to gently rub his sore wrists, inspecting them for any damage. Standing there, more fully clothed than any of the room’s other occupants, he realized all eyes rested on him and he felt strangely naked and vulnerable under their scrutiny, when he thought it would surely have been the other way around.

“Please –” he started, only to be cut off when Wisdom reasserted his hold on Jared’s arm and moved him toward a door opposite the one the others had left the food behind, where Worthy was already waiting for him.

“Ta’ala,” Worthy ordered him, motioning him closer with his hand. The firm grip on his bicep offered Jared few options, so he acquiesced and followed along as he was ordered. The portal they passed through opened up into a huge room and Jared knew with perfect clarity that he had entered the heart of the harem.

Even though there were few lamps flickering, the vastness of the room was unmistakable. He turned slowly, taking in as much as he could. The room seemed nearly as big as the Canterbury Music Hall in Lambeth that had opened last year and that place could seat seven hundred people comfortably. The center of the chamber was topped with a domed ceiling roughly thirty feet high at Jared’s best guess. There was a ring of windows that circled around the base of the dome, too high to see or climb out of, but would let in ample amounts of sunlight during the day. They were doing a more than adequate job with the moonlight now. The walls were decorated with intricate mosaics, but it was too dark to make out exact details. And there were many recessed alcoves that held low tables and several cushions in each. Scattered throughout the floor were divans and large cushions all atop sizeable rugs, not to mention potted plants and Jared thought he even spotted a covered bird cage off to one side. There was only one ornate chair quite obviously different from the others and it sat inside a small enclosure against one of the walls. It looked like a spot fit for a king.

 _Or a sheikh_ , Jared corrected himself.

Before he had a chance to look at more, his guards hurried him across the grand chamber and into another hallway, although it was much narrower than the first. The smooth sandstone gave nothing away as Jared desperately tried to figure out where they might be taking him. He was still shivering but had the vaguest notion that the air around them was growing warmer, which made no sense. Night had fallen and he knew the temperature would only drop steadily lower. Everything was becoming so confusing to him and he was sure he was slightly light-headed at this point after the day’s events, assuming it was still the same day.

When they reached yet another door, Worthy moved ahead and opened it easily as Wisdom guided Jared inside. Several lanterns lit the room completely, revealing an entirely white room, devoid of any decorations or markings. It was slightly bigger than the guardroom, with sections portioned off by screens, creating what looked like large wardrobes. There was nothing else but the faint smell of incense in the air. Jared’s stomach roiled a bit at the perfumed odor and he swayed some.

“Odalik!” Worthy called out in a baritone voice that brooked no refusal.

“Na’am,” came the reply as another man entered the chamber.

He was shorter than both Jared and the eunuchs, dressed in loose pants and a matching shirt of dark colors. And he was barefoot, Jared noted. As best Jared could guess, the man was probably a Qatari, with his olive complexion, close-cropped black hair and dark eyes. But, like Ibrahim’s son Kadeem, he had no beard or moustache. That seemed odd to Jared, for he was clearly an adult, probably at least ten years older than Jared.

The newcomer scowled when he saw the hold the eunuchs had on Jared and snapped something out in Arabic. Wisdom released Jared’s arm, but Worthy drew himself up to his full height and lorded over the smaller man. Whether it was the physical intimidation or by recollecting his station, “Odalik” changed his tone and stature, shrinking somewhat before the Chief Eunuch. They exchanged more words, less harsh and Worthy nodded at the end.

The man then turned to Jared and smiled. There was no malice in the expression and Jared relaxed slightly. Before the man could do or say anything else, Jared attempted another plea. “Tatakallum Ingleezi?”

The other man’s smile broadened. “Yes, I do speak English,” he answered, his words and cadence reminding Jared of the men he had met in Calcutta who had been fluent in English.

Heartened, Jared continued, “Please, there has been some kind of mistake…a-a misunderstanding. I shouldn’t be here, Odalik.”

The man stepped closer even as Wisdom and Worthy positioned themselves to stand shoulder to shoulder at the door they had entered from. Jared noticed that action from the corner of his eye, but he was undeterred in his appeal.

“Maybe you can explain it to these men,” he added, motioning toward the two eunuchs, “that I shouldn’t be here. I don’t think they understood me very well. It’s all been some kind of terrible mistake,” he repeated, becoming more and more agitated. “Please, I just want to leave.”

The other man raised and lowered his hands repeatedly. “Please don’t upset yourself so. My name is Assaf. I am an odalik within the harem.” And he smiled again, as though to take the sting out of the correction. “Here,” he led Jared to a bench built into the wall, near one of the dividers, “please sit.”

Jared let the man lead him, but as soon as he sat down, he clasped the other man’s smaller hand between his large ones. “Please let me go,” he croaked, his emotions finally getting the better of him.

Assaf tilted his head and appeared sympathetic. “It is not within my power to release you. All I can do is make you more comfortable.”

Raising miserable eyes up to him, Jared pleaded, “Maybe you can help me explain to Jensen to let me go then.”

Assaf shook his head in the negative. “It is not my place to visit with the Sheikh. My place is here within the seraglio, to see to the needs of you and the others in the harem only. I don’t rank an audience with him.”

Jared let go of Assaf and dropped his head into his hands instead. “I don’t understand any of this,” he murmured sadly.

Assaf and Worthy started to speak again, but it was all a dull, muffled sound to Jared. His head ached, his stomach was twisted into knots and the day had finally caught up to him. He didn’t even notice when Assaf began talking to him again until there were sure, steady fingers threading through his hair, parting the strands and gently examining his scalp.

“What?” Jared finally asked, raising his face.

“That cut on your head doesn’t look too serious. The best thing for you is to get cleaned up and rest, I think,” Assaf pronounced.

“Richings?” the Chief Eunuch rumbled.

“La,” Assaf answered, shaking his head from side to side. He then clasped Jared’s hands and pulled him to his feet. Ushering him over to one of the dividers, he opened the door and pointed inside.

“Go ahead and remove your clothes and then wrap yourself with the peştemal,” he told Jared.

Stopping in his tracks, Jared nearly shouted, “What?”

Calmly, Assaf explained. “The bit of cloth there,” he indicated to a folded piece of material on the small bench within the enclosure.

“Not that,” Jared interrupted, exasperated. “Why in the world would you expect me to remove my clothes?”

In an even and gentle manner, Assaf slowly herded Jared toward the tiny dressing room. “You cannot enter the hammam in your clothes.”

“The hammam?” Jared repeated.

“Forgive me. You seem to know some of our language, so I forget. You need to remove your clothes before entering the bath,” the odalik clarified.

“I’m not going to take a bath for you,” Jared bristled, backing up. Even as he did so, Wisdom and Worthy moved as one from the door and came closer. Jared refused to be deterred. “I won’t do it.”

Assaf gave the eunuchs a quick jerk of his head as he attempted to reason with Jared. “They will strip the clothes from your body if you refuse. You know that.” Jared cast a side-eyed glance towards the men. “Please don’t make them have to.”

And Jared was suddenly done. He looked between the three men, raised his chin and crossed his arms. “Let them and then they can run back to their precious _sheikh_ and tell him how they forced me,” he spat. “I am quite sure that should delight him to no end.”

No translation was needed. Jared’s stance and tone spoke volumes. Assaf stepped back as the two eunuchs closed in on Jared. Despite his anger and bravado, Jared was secretly terrified and was unprepared for the speed with which the two swooped in on him. Worthy grabbed him by his upper arms before he could even think to put up any resistance and spun him around so Jared’s back was pressed up tightly against the chief’s chest. Wisdom stood in front and once again withdrew his curved blade while Assaf discreetly turned away.

Instead of unfastening Jared’s stained waistcoat, Wisdom, with infinite care, pulled the bottom taut and away from Jared’s body and began to slice off the buttons one by one. Like hail, each mother-of-pearl fastening hit the polished floor with a _plink_ and skittered off in a different direction. With the same diligence he used on the waistcoat, the eunuch pulled Jared’s lawn shirt free of his trousers and subjected those buttons to the same fate.

With his shirt and waistcoat hanging open, Jared whispered, “Min fadlak.” And Wisdom paused what he was doing to regard Jared. “Qif,” the young Englishman pleaded. But his appeals for the man to stop fell on deaf ears as Wisdom slipped the fingers of his left hand inside the waistband of Jared’s trousers.

Chest heaving, Jared closed his eyes when Wisdom began to cut through the front of his pants and then slid the blade easily down the length of one leg and then up the other. Jared’s trousers fell away and landed in a heap around his ankles. When the man reached for Jared’s drawers, Jared whispered, “Khalas. Enough.” 

Wisdom stepped back and Worthy shifted his hands so that instead of holding Jared, they worked first the waistcoat and then his ruined shirt slowly off his body, exposing more of him to the others in the room. Jared didn’t know if the man was trying to be gentle or was only unhurried and deliberate to draw out his humiliation. The garments joined his pants on the gleaming floor, leaving Jared clad in only his undergarments, hose and shoes. Assaf had raised his head back up and approached the men, appearing relieved to guide Jared over to a changing space. The Englishman knew he painted a sorry picture as he shuffled inside, dressed as he was. Perversely, he hoped Jensen would be pleased by it all when word eventually got back to him. Someone should get something out of it.

Jared was mildly surprised when Assaf closed the door, giving him a modicum of privacy. Sitting on the edge of the small bench, Jared curled and uncurled his hands to stop their trembling before he was finally able to unlace his shoes and line them up neatly against the wall before peeling off his hose. He vaguely thought he noticed a spot of mud on one of them that had lingered from his time on the beach at Doheh, which seemed a lifetime ago in retrospect. He stood and with slightly steadier fingers, undid the tie to his drawers and let them fall to floor. More out of habit than conscious thought, he then plucked them up and folded them carefully before placing the undergarments on the bench along with his hose. He picked up the silky peştemal and, uncertain what to do with it, finally settled for wrapping it about his waist several times. He wondered how long he could linger within the safety of the dressing room; it’s privacy and security were illusions and Jared knew that, but he wanted to cling to the fantasy as long as possible. The irony that a small enclosure such as this one would normally have set his heart beating uncomfortably fast was not lost on him.

The gentle rapping on the door shattered the deception soon enough. “Are you all right, sir?”

 _How polite_ , he thought, _and proper_. Like Assaf was a valet of the East India Club and Jared was situated in the St. James Suite in comfort and familiarity. He had to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the giggle that almost escaped his lips and he briefly entertained the notion that he was going mad. That would certainly explain the entire, wretched affair rather tidily. Jared contemplated if one could choose to be insane. It might make everything easier to bear.

“Of course I’m fine,” is what he said indignantly and then a laugh did slip free. “Who wouldn’t be, given the circumstances?”

When the odalik made no attempt to force open the door, Jared turned the handle of his own volition and stepped outside. He saw that the eunuchs had returned to their place by the door, a silent and steady presence. And with no little dismay, Jared also noticed his clothes were no longer in sight. Glancing back over his shoulder, he looked at the pitiful remainder of his belongings with some regret. He was certain he would never see those items again. What had he already become reduced to in order to grow maudlin over a pair of drawers?

“Come,” Assaf said with what sounded like understanding, a gentle hand at Jared’s elbow. “This way.”

Without another glance back, Jared let himself once again be led from the changing room and away from the eunuchs. He didn’t know if they followed or remained in the chamber, content to block from there any escape Jared might make.

When Assaf opened the door at the other end of the room, a huge cloud of steam wafted out. Jared recoiled instinctually, but Assaf placed a hand at the small of his back and nudged him through. “It will be all right,” he promised.

“No, it won’t,” Jared whispered under his breath.

While not nearly the size of the main room of the harem, the chamber Assaf ushered him into was of a similar shape and impressive nonetheless. Much like the changing room, there was white marble from floor to ceiling. Lamps and candles were littered about. Tiny, curved alcoves dotted the circumference. Nestled within each one was a gleaming faucet above a marble basin, which rested on a raised platform large enough for someone to comfortably sit or recline on. Directly in the center of the room was another pedestal, octagonal in shape and far larger than the formal family dining table of his family, also of white marble but inlaid with a variety of tiles that formed geometric patterns. But what was truly eye-catching was the domed ceiling. It was riddled with carved openings the size of dinner plates that allowed the light entrance. Moonlight shot through in narrow beams intersecting with one another, their brightness magnified by the billowing steam that filled the room.

The air was heavy and humid with the dense vapors. The strange scents were suffocating and Jared found himself reeling. “Breathe deeply and it will pass,” Assaf urged him. Unable to do more than nod, Jared did as he was told and the dizzying nausea soon passed. He found himself seated in the nearest alcove.

“This is the _sıcaklık._ It is the hot room,” Assaf explained. “Ta’ala. Ta’ala,” he called again. Before Jared had a chance to question him, several young men – clad only in shifts of fabric like he was – hurried in from a different door near a marble screen that was carved with intricate starburst patterns. One carried a small bowl, which was carefully placed along one edge of the center pedestal, while two others cautiously maneuvered a large and ornate huqqa nearly three feet tall into the room. None of the men had beards or mustaches, but they appeared closer to Jared’s age than Assaf’s.

“Let the tellak,” Assaf gestured to the group of men, “attend to you. It is their job.” Jared again only nodded.

While one young man ran water into the marble basin, the other two busied themselves with several small bottles and a strange looking glove. As Assaf explained something to them in Arabic, they nodded and approached Jared slowly, probably attempting to appear non-threatening. When Jared bobbed his head up and down, they knelt on opposite sides of him. The third one brought a pitcher over from the basin and stood behind him.

“Tip your head back,” Assaf instructed, “and close your eyes.”

As Jared did, the young man behind him used one hand to shield his eyes while he soaked Jared’s hair thoroughly with the comfortably warm water. He then proceeded to pour water over Jared’s entire body, drenching the thin cloth wrapped around him as he did so. Despite his predicament, Jared couldn’t deny the water felt good against his sweaty, dirty skin. He decided to keep his eyes closed while the other young men dripped fluid more viscous and sweet smelling than water over his wet skin. When something mildly rough began rubbing circles against his back, his eyes flew open.

Already anticipating the question, Assaf said, “It is a _kese_ , designed to remove impurities from the skin.” Jared twisted his neck around and when he saw one of the tellak wielding the strange looking glove vigorously, he closed his eyes again.

One young man stretched out his left arm, while another poured more of the thick, perfumed liquid on it and the third scrubbed him with the _kese_. The procedure was repeated on his right arm. And it was in this fashion that the tellak cleansed him from head to toe, although they very notably avoided his groin, for which he was grateful. And though he would be loath to admit it, Jared faintly enjoyed having his hair washed and freed of the dried blood that plastered some of it to his scalp. Whatever they were using as soap on his skin had a very unique odor that seemed to linger there and was not unpleasant to breathe in. One last sluice of warm water splashed over him before someone urged Jared to his feet. When he opened his eyes, he saw Assaf studying him seriously.

“I am sorry about this,” the other man said before deftly removing Jared’s wrap, exposing him completely.

Jared tried to cover his manhood, but the tellak that flanked him each clasped a wrist and held his arms with strength that belied their slight frames. The odalik did not stare at him long, but seemed to appraise him quickly and dispassionately, as though he were more embarrassed by Jared’s nudity than Jared was. Before he could say or object to any of it, Assaf told the young men something that Jared didn’t understand and they coaxed him over to the large pedestal.

As Jared lay down, he was surprised to find the pedestal warmer than the room. One young man lifted Jared’s head, while another slid a rolled towel beneath it as a pillow. While the young men fussed with arranging Jared and seeing to his comfort, he couldn’t help but notice that Assaf appeared to be speaking but not to him, although he would occasionally throw surreptitious looks his way. Jared’s eyes widened in comprehension. There was someone behind the screen. Someone else was watching him.

 _Was it Jensen?_ he mused. Hiding back there to make certain Jared’s humiliation was complete? Did Jensen hate him that much? 

Jensen…

Without meaning to, Jared closed his eyes again. Jensen. Although Jared had been eager to see the land where Jensen grew up, wanted to take away some small memory to treasure of the man he thought he’d never see again, never in his wildest dreams (or nightmares) did he ever think their paths would cross again in the fashion they ultimately had. He understood that Jensen must have hated him, despised him even, but he had vainly hoped that his hatred might have mellowed over time. It very obviously had not. But Jared could not truly blame him after he had so cruelly –

“I am sorry,” Assaf interrupted his morose train of thought. Jared turned to glimpse past him, toward the screen, but the dim light was not enough for him to make out anything more than shadows. “I needed to know if you would require…” and for the first time, Assaf, whose command of the English language was exemplary, was at a loss for words. Shrugging, he finally said, “In Arabic, we call it _khitān_ when a man has the skin there,” and he pointed vaguely towards Jared’s groin without looking, “cut. If you had not been, we would have had to address that.”

Jared had nothing to say to that revelation. Although his father had renounced the Jewish faith not long after Jared had been born, his bris had been one of the last acts of that faith. Growing up, his father had alternately consoled and assured him that no woman of “good breeding” would know the import of what he was missing down there, so his past faith was safely hidden. He had no recollection of the procedure, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like for an adult to suffer through.

“You would do that to me?” he sputtered.

Nodding solemnly, he said, “It is a part of the sunan al-fitra that we practice, which you will need to adopt as well. What we do next will be your responsibility forty days from now.” Jared had no idea where he might run to, but he would take his chances. If circumcision was one of these practices, he had no desire to discover what the others were. But the tellak were prepared. One of them knelt above his head on the pedestal and pinned him down by his shoulders, while the other knelt at his feet and clutched his ankles tight. The third collected the small bowl he had entered the hot room with.

Whatever was in it couldn’t be too terrible, Jared told himself as he strained against the hands holding him down. He would discover soon enough how wrong he was.

Standing to the side, Assaf continued speaking. “Hair below the neck is unclean and must be removed as the hadith demands. Plucking and shaving are two methods for removal, but the First Kadin has decreed a different method that lasts longer and gives better results. She culled it from texts of the sixteenth century.”

The young man set the bowl near Jared’s waist, where he was able to get a look at the contents. The dull gray paste inside seemed innocuous enough, smelling slightly like garlic. Flicking his gaze back to the tellak, he noticed the young man had wrapped cloth around both his hands, covering as much of his skin there as possible. That didn’t bode well.

Assaf nodded and the young man holding his ankles pulled his legs farther apart. Jared was completely exposed to everyone and was so mortified that he was frozen to the spot. The tellak with the covered hands dipped one into the basin and started to smear the paste along and under Jared’s arms, over the sparse hair on his chest, down the length of his legs before coming to his groin. Dipping both hands in the paste anew, the man quickly but thoroughly smoothed the strong smelling stuff around the base of Jared’s member, along his sack and finally slipped between the crack of his arse. He touched Jared in places Jared had never explored with his own fingers and the Englishman was beyond degraded. When he finished, the tellak discarded the cloth, dashed over to one of the faucets and rinsed his hands under the running water.

“What is this?” Jared rasped, certain his face was deep red from shame. Though there had been no initial discomfort, the paste tingled on his skin.

“It is a mix of arsenic and quicklime,” Assaf answered.

“How long does it stay on?” Jared noticed the tingling itch had morphed into a heat that was quickly growing painful.

“Until you feel your skin begin to burn,” he replied smoothly.

“What –” Jared began, before cutting himself off with a scream that echoed throughout the chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to say it, but because I once again am hosting family for the Christmas holidays, I will probably need a week between postings. So look for the next update at the beginning of the year!
> 
> Happy holidays to those that celebrate something at this time of year!


	8. Chapter 8

 

Jensen stormed into his bedroom, his angry footsteps echoing off the polished floor loudly. The tapestry draped walls did little to muffle the slaps. Without care, he dropped the dusty bundle of Jared’s belongings onto a small, round, brass table that rested near a pile of large cushions. Turning away from the possessions as though their mere presence was an affront to his peace of mind, Jensen stomped over to his desk, which was on the opposite side of the ridiculously large room. He moved so briskly, the oil lamps and candlelight wavered wildly as he passed. Even as he ripped the kufiya from his head and tossed the cloth haphazardly across the seat of his desk chair, the igal slithering to the floor like a serpent, Jensen wondered what in the world his father had needed such a large bedchamber for; its ostentatiousness rankling him this evening more than most. The rich carpets, the equally fine tapestries that covered large sections of the gleaming walls, the brass bowls full of water whose only purpose was to hold dozens of floating candles in them, the enormous bed on the raised dais, draped in muslin netting and covered in silk sheets that practically dripped off of it. Then he remembered the harem and quickly clamped down on that line of query, for to dwell on it was to recollect his mother. And now there was Jared to consider.

“Damn it all,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Suddenly, he felt hemmed in on all sides. He practically tore his bisht from his shoulders and flung the dark robe across the room, not caring where it landed as it billowed like a storm cloud before drifting to the floor. With sure fingers, he began unbuttoning the top of his thobe, its high, nearly clerical collar chaffing like hands at his throat. Unlike many of the region, Jensen favored a shorter style similar to those worn in Morocco, so it resembled an overly long shirt more than anything else. He paced restlessly across the many rugs that partially covered the polished floor. The drapes were already pulled shut across the half dozen openings to the terrace – the gardens below were steeped in elongated shadows and encroaching darkness – and they blotted out his view. At some base level, even that simple action angered him. It was as though someone else was always making decisions for him, albeit small, inconsequential ones. But, eventually, those choices should have mattered. And they should have been his to make. He’d speak to his people in the morning.

He raked his fingers through his short hair and then dropped his head. He rolled it from one side to the other, almost desperate to work out the knots the day’s events had cinched tight in his neck and broad shoulders. Without hesitation, he walked over to the only entrance into his chambers and swung open the doors.

“Worthy!” he called out. He knew, no matter where the Kızlar Ağası was within the palace, word would get to him soon enough; he wouldn’t have to wait long.

In a matter of less than three minutes, the large chief of the eunuchs was standing before him, appearing as unflappable as always. Jensen smothered the small voice that wondered how Jared was faring within the seraglio; he would be fine because he didn’t have the option not to be. Someone would take care of his basic needs. The man before him, eyes like black pools, gave nothing away, either.

“Escort Matthew here and have him bring his oils,” he ordered, the Arabic words flowing easily despite his tension.

Worthy bowed slightly. “It will be done,” the man replied smoothly and backed away, silently shutting the doors behind him.

Jensen was sure his late-evening request would cause a stir. He seldom called for one of the harem to visit so late in the day, preferring their company while the sun was up. But he was agitated and suddenly unsettled, his muscles tense and sore. _All because of that boy_ , his mind offered unhelpfully. He shook his head to rid himself of that annoying voice. Alaina had mentioned on more than one occasion that one of his father’s last acquisitions, Matthew, had rather exquisite hands and was quite competent with them. Well, tonight Jensen would test those talents and if the man measured up, perhaps Jensen would break his one, steadfast rule and call someone back from the harem a second time to sample them again.

Taking a few, deep, calming breaths, Jensen slowly unbuckled his belt and removed it in addition to his janbiya. He would have no need of a dagger tonight and there was no reason to make Matthew more uncomfortable or nervous than necessary. No, he’d save that pleasure for when he took Jared. He dropped the belt onto the same, small table where he had deposited the young Englishman’s wrapped possessions. He considered the small bundle before him. With the tip of his sheathed dagger, Jensen poked at it like it was a nest of scorpions. When a flap of cloth fell away, the corner of a tan, leather book peeped out. Jensen didn’t need to uncover more to recognize Jared’s journal. Setting the janbiya aside, he plucked the stained book up with more consideration than he had showed the lad’s things earlier. With it in his hands, he noticed several, new stains that adorned the cover, which was now shiny and smooth with wear. Rubbing the spine absently with his calloused thumb, Jensen couldn’t help but to remember.

**_Somerset, England in late August, 1851_ **

_Jensen absently swatted at the insects that flitted about. James had been right; the day was perfect for lounging about outside, away from the gloomy interiors of Daylesford Manor. Not nearly as warm as his own country, but a far cry from the damp spring he had suffered through in Oxford. And James had scored them a double victory. Not only had he managed to convince his parents they had no need of the three young men – James wasn’t about to abandon his baby brother to his parent’s sole attentions and Jensen had absolutely no desire to dissuade him of that notion – for the entirety of the afternoon, but they had no need of any accompaniment, either, since they didn’t plan to venture too far on the grounds afoot. So the three of them, sans servants, had packed up a selection of George Padalecki’s prize angling gear including new fly wheels by none other than the family of_ _Onesimus Ustonson from Redditch, a handful of Ant, Great Dun and Hawthorn flies_ _, a hamper filled to the brim with sandwiches (they’d snuck that past Madame Padalecki, who surely would have affected a case of the vapors at the very thought of her young gentlemen partaking in food commonly consumed while drinking or gaming late at night) and a couple of quart-size, stoneware porter bottles – of which only one was left – currently chilling in a small rock cairn at the edge of the stream. Although Jared had requested one as well, his brother had put his foot down on not allowing his baby brother to imbibe spirits of any kind on his watch._

 _The babbling waters were supposedly home to beautiful, rainbow trout, but so far, all three of their wicker creels were empty, save for the soggy moss inside that was meant to keep their catch cool. He did appreciate the stream with its murmuring sounds, though; so much more pleasing than the fountains in his rooms back in the Arabian Peninsula. And all the green. As Jensen wet his line again, he stole a glance_ _back over his shoulder and realized he was the only one still doing so. James, obviously contentedly_ _full of bread, meat and beer, was propped up against a sturdy oak. Judging by the way his chin appeared to be attached to his breast, Jensen rightly surmised his roommate was once again practicing that most important lesson his professor had impressed upon him: dozing. Turning to his left, Jensen caught sight of Jared and took a moment to enjoy the view._

 _Sprawled out on the plaid blanket they had thrown down for their impromptu luncheon, Jared was resting on his stomach. He was still without hose or boots, having forsworn them earlier in favor of wading out into the stream for a better chance at catching trout, waistcoat unbuttoned and the sleeves of his pristine, white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was scribbling furiously in his journal while kicking and swinging his calves in the air to a jig only he could hear_ _. Jensen noticed that the lad wrote for long intervals, when he wasn’t under the watchful gaze of his parents, specifically the Padalecki patriarch. And Jensen would admit to a certain amount of healthy curiosity what Jared had set down to paper between those leather covers. He would also grudgingly admit to a more than un_ _healthy curiosity about the boy himself. Ever since their brief interlude in the stables a few weeks prior, thwarted by an ill-timed, passing comment by George that they had overheard, Jensen was finding his thoughts drifting more and more towards the youngest Padalecki. And those thoughts were decidedly of a personal nature._

 _Even now, he traced a path with his ardent gaze from the long, lean lines of the boy’s legs to his bare and slender, milk-white feet. With rapt fascination, he watched as Jared curled and uncurled his toes as he wrote down his thoughts. At the same time, the lad’s pink tongue peeped out to paint a trail of moisture_ _along his upper lip. Suddenly the stream held little interest for Jensen, who wedged his pole near the remaining beer and abandoned the rest of his_ _gear along the stream’s edge. He made his way slowly up the slight bank and over to Jared, moving quietly enough so as not to give away his intentions. When he was close enough, he simply heaved himself onto the blanket with a loud huff, landing_ _next to the boy with a grin. Jared barely noticed him, so intent was he on his writing. Jensen decided a small amount of teasing was in order._

 _He rolled onto his back and clasped his hands together and laid them over his heart. Squinting into the afternoon sun nearly alone in a sea of cornflower blue skies_ _, noticeably_ _lower than it had been a mere month prior and signaling the waning of summer,_ _he sighed and began his narrative. “Beloved Journal, today I spent the afternoon in pleasant company with the dashing, handsome and mysterious roommate of my brother. I’ve never met anyone like him before and admit to being quite smitten_ _with him. I oftentimes find myself wondering what it would be like…” and he let his voice grow deeper, “…if I were to let him…” Jensen didn't finish the sentence.  Instead,_ _he leaned_ _over slightly and shot Jared a provocative look. The boy hadn’t so much as glanced his way, but instead ducked his head further down, letting his chestnut locks fall over his eyes. There was, however, a distinctive flush to the lad’s cheeks that had nothing to do with their afternoon sojourn in the sunlight_ _and everything, Jensen suspected, to do with the playful words he had been reciting._

 _Jensen swayed his head slightly from side to side and licked at his lower lip. All signs pointed to the fact that the boy had been writing about him. And that knowledge did something to his insides, filling them with a warmth that had absolutely nothing to do with the dog days of August and everything to do with the person next to him_ _. Unsure of how exactly_ _to proceed, he decided on a playful approach. Without warning, he flipped over so that he blanketed Jared’s body with his own and made as if to yank the leather book from the lad’s grip. Caught unawares, Jared practically squealed in surprise and sought to protect his secret_ _writings_ _at all cost. Jensen could have wrested the manuscript from his roommate’s brother easily enough – Jensen was, after all, broader and stronger – and although he was even more interested in the words now that he had discovered some were surely about him, he had no real desire to invade the lad’s privacy. So, while he took complete advantage of the opportunity to run his hands up and down the length of Jared’s lean, young torso with ticklish touches_ _, he made no genuine attempts at capturing the journal. But Jared didn’t have to_ _know that._

_Shoving the thing under his stomach, Jared gasped out breathlessly, “Don’t! Please don’t!”_

_“And why shouldn’t I?” Jensen growled. His hot breath prickled the soft, pink shell of Jared’s ear as he did so, eliciting a full-body shiver along the lad’s firm form. Jensen felt the tremor on himself everywhere._

_“Promise me you won’t ever,” the lad pleaded. Tossing a look over his shoulder that would have been considered almost coquettish had it been anyone else, he added, “Please?”_

_Peering into those beautiful, multi-hued eyes, partially hidden by Jared’s errant fringe, Jensen nodded. The boy’s plea had sent a shiver up his own spine, sparking something dark and pleased within him at the sound of his begging. In that moment, Jensen would have denied him nothing. “All right,” he whispered._

_Jared gave him a small smile before lowering his head. All at once, Jensen was struck with the realization of their position and how well the lad fit against the length of his body. Acting on instinct alone, Jensen rocked his hips against the absolute perfection of Jared’s pert arse once and held his breath, curious and somewhat uncertain of the boy’s reaction. It was almost imperceptible, but Jensen could swear the younger man pushed back slightly and not with the intent of dislodging Jensen. Clasping Jared’s shoulders, Jensen mouthed his way along the edge of Jared’s ear, all the while exhaling moist air into the vulnerable curve. Shudders like a palsy raced up and down Jared’s body and Jensen squeezed the boy’s arms that much harder._

_“Jensen,” came the harsh response from beneath him._

_Before Jensen could do or say anything more, a loud snort to their right caused them both to freeze. Casting a gaze towards the oak, Jensen watched as James stretched out his long arms and then scratched absently at his chest. With a heartfelt sigh, Jensen rolled off of Jared and lay on his stomach for a few moments, desperate to compose himself and hide his burgeoning erection from Jared’s older brother. He didn’t want to have to try and explain when he himself wasn’t quite sure what was happening between them. A sidelong look revealed Jared to be more flushed than he was before Jensen had begun spouting off his silly statements, so Jensen knew the youngest Padalecki was as affected as he was by their situation. That knowledge loosened something unnamed inside of him._

_“Well, I suppose we should so slowly make our way back home,” James yawned. “I’d hate to test Father’s patience. After all,” he grinned, “I wouldn’t mind sneaking off again once more before we have to return to University.”_

_Jensen slowly matched his expression with a smile all his own. “I definitely wouldn’t mind sneaking off again,” he agreed and shot Jared a devilish smirk. The lad demurely dipped his head, but his tousled mane couldn’t cover the upward twitch of his lips._

_Once certain he would no longer be publicly embarrassed by any tenting of his trousers, Jensen slowly rose to his knees as Jared pushed himself up into a sitting position. Without saying a word, he plucked one of Jared’s socks up from the blanket and crawled over to the boy. He sat back onto his haunches and clasped Jared’s ankle with both hands and guided his leg so that the lad’s foot rested very near his groin. He slid one hand up the boy’s calf, ostensibly to push his narrow trouser leg up higher. He did, however, take advantage of the opportunity and caress the firm, hard muscle under his fingers. The entire time, his eyes never left Jared’s. The younger man’s lips were parted and Jensen watched as those bright eyes grew darker. In that moment, they were the only two in the world. With carefully deliberate movements, Jensen slipped the fine hose over Jared’s foot and smoothed the material up the length of his leg with long strokes of his fingers, fondling his slender ankle. As he did so, Jared flexed and curled his toes over Jensen’s cock, his touch slightly teasing and Jensen realized that apparently two could play the game he had been waging solo. Jensen was fully prepared to take their sensual amusement to the next level, when James called out, “Hey now, you’ve caught a fish on your line! Come look!”_

_Jensen let his head fall and murmured, “Of all the bloody luck.” When he lifted it again, Jared had clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter._

Jensen fingered the book and didn’t even realize he was smiling, so caught up in his reminiscence. It had been a delightful day and one of the many he’d come to cherish, along with the occasional correspondence he exchanged with Jared, over the following autumn when he’d resumed his studies. His strokes along the journal’s binding grew more deliberate and rough. How wrong he’d been all along, falling for the little chit’s wily smiles and manners. Firming his expression, he stared down at the collection of words and momentarily considered tossing it into one of the large braziers that burned nearby. It would be a fitting end for Padalecki’s heretical works. But something stayed his hand, the same something that also kept him from flipping through those precious pages and reading some of Jared’s writings firsthand. That something was the image of a young man, with sunlight glinting in his hair and slanted, exotic eyes extracting a promise from Jensen – a promise he would keep.

“Damn him,” he growled and let the book fall back to the table. The lad wasn’t even before him and Jared was still playing merry hell with Jensen’s thoughts and emotions. Glancing at the leather-bound book only served to stoke those harsh feelings. Jared knew how Jensen valued family and honor above all else – it was the very heart of who Jensen was. It was why he’d asked it of him; he _knew_ Jensen would always honor his promise.

Casting a murderous glare at the little pile on the table, Jensen clenched and unclenched his fists. The rapidly building fury within him needed an outlet. But before he could do anything rash, a knock on his doors announced Worthy’s return. Jensen closed his eyes and sucked in a harsh breath, held it for the count of ten and then slowly exhaled. As he marched over to the doors, he unconsciously smoothed down the front of his thobe as he collected himself. “Na’am?” he asked. From the other side of the door, the Kızlar Ağası announced he had returned with the concubine he’d requested in tow.

Jensen opened the doors and there stood Matthew, with Worthy a step beside and behind the young man. For a moment, Jensen simply stood there and regarded the man from head to toe. He couldn’t deny his father had a keen eye, for the man was handsome. His face was beautifully sculpted. Dark hair clipped almost as short as Jensen’s revealed sea-grey eyes that were somewhat beguiling in the candlelight. Roughly the same age as Jensen, he was shorter, but so were most people he crossed paths with. _Not Jared_ , that annoying voice piped up for a second time. _Not anymore_. Jensen scowled and pushed the words to the back of his mind and offered the fidgeting man what he thought was a reassuring smile as he beckoned him inside the bedchamber. With a sharp nod, Jensen dismissed Worthy. Shutting the doors, Jensen turned and leaned against them to watch Matthew.

The concubine, dressed in loose pants and a simple vest of matching, dark colors, padded nearly silently with his bare feet over to one of the many tables in the room and lowered his tray there carefully. Jensen noted the man trembled almost imperceptibly when he passed by, trailing lavender and clove scents in his wake. Jensen didn’t know if Matthew had ever been with his father and had chosen never to peruse the ledger kept by the _haznedar_ with all the names and dates of the concubines who had coupled with the last sheikh. Painstakingly kept as proof of legitimacy should a concubine become with child and therefore move up in rank within the harem, the sheikh’s treasurer recorded each and every visit made to the bedchamber. Jensen never wanted to know who had lain with his father and also had no desire to ever see his mother’s name scrawled by a shaky hand amongst the rank and file of the harem. As if somehow never seeing it changed the world he lived in. If only things were so simple.

As Matthew fussed and adjusted the various jars and tiny pitchers on his tray, Jensen sensed the man’s unease grow. “Hal tatakallam al-lughah al-'arabīyah?” he asked, to break the tension. While Jensen didn’t care to know who his father had bedded, or how often, he did make certain to learn where they all had come from. Matthew was a kohain, descended from priests of the Temple of Jerusalem, and originally from that region. Like most of the harem, he had been taken by Barbary corsairs and sold into the slave market. Jensen’s father, like many sheikhs and sultans in the region, traveled often to Morocco to purchase new acquisitions from the many personally set aside for him by the Dey of Algiers. He had amassed some of the most skilled and beautiful people in the lands and more than a few of Jensen’s neighbors were envious.

“Na'am, qalīlan,” he replied in a soft, but pleasing voice. But there was hesitancy there as well.

 _So, only a little_ , thought Jensen. He tried a different approach.

“Parlez-vous français?”

“Oui, je parle un petit peu,” the concubine answered more certainly.

“And what about English?” Jensen finally questioned, since his own ability to speak in Hebrew was non-existent.

Matthew’s smile assumed a more genuine quality. “I think I speak that the best of the three.”

“Excellent,” Jensen said and clapped his hands.

“How may I serve you, Sheikh?” he asked quietly, with a slight bow.

Jensen rubbed his hands together. “The First Kadin,” he began, making sure to use Alaina’s title properly no matter how much it rankled him to do so, “has spoken very highly of your skills as a masseur. Tonight, I would like to take avail myself of your services.”

Swallowing visibly, Matthew responded, “Of course, Sheikh. If you would please remove your thobe and perhaps lie down on the bed?” At Jensen’s nod, the man then turned back and fussed some more with his supplies.

Jensen walked over to the large dais and climbed up to his bed. He slowly unbuttoned his thobe and let it slide down his body. For some unnamed reason, he was unaccountably uneasy. He knew he had no reason to be. He was proud of his body and took care to keep himself healthy. Working the horses he bred for enjoyment had given him broad shoulders and powerful thighs. His arms were well muscled and his hands strong, if calloused. Stepping out of the puddle of material his shirt had made, he decided to keep his sirwal on. He saw no reason to remove the long, loose pants unless Matthew directed him to. He didn’t want to make the concubine more nervous than he already was. It was shameful enough Jensen was acting nearly virginal about the whole experience. There was no reason to drag Matthew down the same path.

By the time Matthew approached, Jensen had stretched out on his stomach and pillowed his head on his folded arms, willing himself to relax. The concubine placed his tray near Jensen’s head and Jensen watched as the various vials and small carafes winked their jewel-like colors in the flickering lights. Jensen felt the bed bow and dip as Matthew climbed onto it, sliding his hands along the sheets uncertainly.

“These are very fine, Sheikh,” he began. “I should find something to place on top of them before we begin.”

Jensen shot him a look over his shoulder before clasping Matthew’s wrist. “Leave it,” he told the concubine quietly. “It won’t be the first time the sheets have been made messy.”

Matthew nodded slowly and Jensen released his hand. He resettled himself on his stomach, trying not to think of how his words – and their implications – had sounded to the concubine.

“Where would you like me to focus my attentions, Sheikh?”

Jensen sighed. “My neck and shoulders are particularly troublesome tonight, so why don’t you start there?”

“Yes, Sheikh,” Matthew answered.

With his chin resting on his pillowed hands, Jensen added, “For tonight and only tonight, within these walls, please call me Jensen.” He had no idea why he was breaking another of his rigid rules and allowing the concubine to call him by his given name, but he needed to hear it tonight. He needed someone to see him, if just for a little while.

“Jensen,” Matthew repeated with some hesitancy, as though testing out the name.

Jensen flinched slightly when a thin drizzle of warm oil plopped onto his skin and wormed its way down his spine to pool at the small of his back. He managed to remain composed when that trail of lubricant was followed by a pair of warm and extremely soft hands. Those hands traced patterns in the oil and smoothed a coating of it across the broad expanse of Jensen’s shoulders. Once most of his exposed skin was covered, Matthew began his work in earnest. While soft, the concubine’s hands were surprisingly strong and sure. They worked the muscles of Jensen’s back with practiced ease, ferreting out knots and tension like a hound flushing out a fox. Jensen lost track of time and drifted for a while. Apparently, Alaina had been correct in her assessment of Matthew’s skills. Jensen felt his muscles ease one by one and the tension fled his shoulders. He hummed in contentment.

So caught up in his relaxation, Jensen did not at first realize how Matthew’s hands danced along the waistband of his sirwal and the dip of his spine. It was only when the first finger tentatively slipped beneath the cotton material that Jensen became aware of the other man’s intentions. He let him work the small of his back and the top of his buttocks for a few minutes anyway, almost wishing to deny how good it all felt. But, in the end, Jensen put a stop to it.

“Enough, he whispered harshly, shifting onto his back with some difficulty, what with the concubine still astride him. When he was able to look the man in the eye, Jensen saw those sea green eyes had grown stormy with what might have been desire. The way the concubine’s arse pressed against Jensen’s lap didn't ease matters a whit. Jensen couldn't deny that he _wanted_ tonight, so very much. But he wanted someone willing and, by the very definition of their station, concubines couldn't give their consent. He might have broken one or two of his personal rules regarding their “use”, but he wouldn't break the most important. He would never, ever claim one of the harem. He wasn't his father. Matthew wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last he'd send back to the seraglio untouched. But that was also a fact that the other man didn't need to be privy to.

“Get off of me,” Jensen ordered him firmly, but kind. He saw the surprise that the concubine couldn't mask in time.

Matthew busied himself with collecting his supplies, but Jensen didn't miss the unease that was creeping onto the other man’s face. Jensen twisted around and sat up, letting his feet fall to the dais. “It was nothing you did,” he began, holding up a hand when he saw that Matthew was about to say something. Jensen didn't want to hear another person beg him to be used. “I’m simply not in the right frame of mind for this after all tonight. It's been a strange day,” he huffed out.

“Is it because of the new boy?” Matthew asked softly.

Jensen should have been surprised by the fact that Matthew already knew of Jared’s arrival, but he wasn't. Word spread throughout the palace faster than the wings of a hawk could propel it through the sky. Alaina would probably have more than a few words to share with him on the ‘morrow, but Jensen had no desire to dwell on that tonight. Knowing her, she would be well-armed by breakfast with a plethora of tidbits she’d have garnered about the young Englishman anyway. She had a way of gathering information that sometimes left Jensen in awe of her clandestine skills. In fact, Matthew might be asking merely on her behalf for all he knew. And he'd give that woman no ammunition of his own, free will.

“I've a great deal weighing on me that's no concern of yours.” His words were more harsh than before and final.

Matthew dropped his head and stood up, reaching for his tray. Once again, Jensen clasped his wrist. He might not want to share his innermost thoughts with the man, but he had no desire to be cruel, either. Tugging him close enough that their lips were practically touching, Jensen could admit that if they had both been free men, he would have happily spent a night learning Matthew’s body from top to bottom. It had been nearly three years since he'd shared a bed with someone and lost himself inside their flesh. But he wouldn't do it with anyone who couldn't give all of themselves to him. He couldn't imagine anything emptier than that. But he could give Matthew what he gave every other concubine who spent time in his bedchambers: status.

“There’s no need for anyone else to know what did and didn't transpire within this room tonight.” As expected, his words caused the concubine’s head to shoot up, startled.

“What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly.

“Exactly what I said. I will leave it up to your discretion how you choose to describe what we shared here tonight. I know things can be…competitive within the harem and I wouldn't want you to lose face with the others upon your return simply because you weren't enough to distract me from my heavy thoughts this eve.” He noticed Matthew’s expression had dimmed at that pronouncement. Nothing like being informed you weren't good enough to even be taken advantage of. “All I ask is that you make sure to describe my person and abilities appropriately. I'm sure you wouldn't want to appear lacking when your stories are compared to the others.”

Matthew nodded eagerly. Jensen had given him carte blanche to brag and exaggerate how they'd passed the time together. No doubt the exploits of his sexual prowess and fortitude would spread through the harem with the strength of a shamal. Jensen knew how the concubines strove to outdo one another, each bragging how well they'd satisfied the sheikh and each tale becoming more grandiose. What none of them realized was that Jensen hadn't bedded a single one and each concubine lied to cover up what they perceived as their own inequities and inabilities to please him. The deception worked out well. Jensen had a reputation as a sexual juggernaut and each member of the harem was able to console themselves with the small elevation in social standing to Ikbal – one who had slept with the sheikh. It was the best solution Jensen could conceive of for the time being. And by the looks of it, Matthew was eager to play along and uphold the status quo. Jensen couldn't ask for more.

“Thank you for this evening,” Jensen added genuinely.

“It was my pleasure,” Matthew replied with a slight bow, gathering his things.

Jensen escorted him to the doors. When he opened them, he was unsurprised to see Worthy waiting a discreet distance down the hall. The chief approached them with a single eyebrow cocked in wordless inquiry. Jensen nodded to him and the eunuch swept his arm back down the hallway. Matthew took that as his cue and bowed more deeply than he had inside the bedchambers.

“Thank you, Sheikh,” he offered Jensen before disappearing down the darkened corridor with Worthy trailing behind like a shadow. Jensen closed his doors and rested his forehead against the cool metal. It did nothing to soothe what still raged inside. Reluctantly turning around, he returned to the place where Jared’s things rested, much like a moth to a flame. He flicked the cloth aside farther to reveal the gleam of another all-too-familiar item. The pen case he had gifted Jared with on the first and only Christmas they had shared together.

_“Does that mean something?” Jared asked as he trailed his slender finger along the phrase inlaid on the lid. “It looks so beautiful,” he added. “More like art than language.”_

_Jensen smiled gently when he looked into the boy’s sparkling eyes. “I’ll tell you one day,” he said quietly._

_“So it’s a secret?” Jared whispered, managing to look child-like and sensual all at the same time._

_Jensen leaned in close to the younger man’s ear and breathed, “For now.”_

The last prayer call of the day – the Isha’a – broke him from his reverie. He fingered the phrase much as Jared had done that day and ignored the sudden sting at the corners of his eyes.

One phrase that meant everything.

Uhibbuk.

_I love you._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although tagged above, warnings that this chapter contains dub-con to fully consensual drug use, not to mention non-con body modification and non-con bondage via a non-historically correct chastity device.

 

Jared was on fire. He was sure of it. Blinding, scorching flames raced up and down his body. The heat was worse than the desert sun, but just as inescapable. He tried, in vain, to remain silent after his initial, shameful outburst, but he couldn’t stop a hissing gasp from slipping past his lips. Nothing in his life had ever burned like that infernal paste the others had slathered over him had. And the worst was centered in and around his most intimate areas. He would have reached down to check, but the tellak held him immobile. He wondered if there was any skin left there at all, because he was certain every bit of him was melting off. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Jared was unable to keep a few wayward tears from coursing down his temples and collecting in his ears. He didn't know how he was supposed to endure the pain when every second seemed like an eternity.

“I have something that can ease your suffering, if you want it,” he heard Assaf say from somewhere off to his right.

Biting his lip practically bloody, Jared didn't trust himself to speak. He only nodded in short, spasm-like jerks, never once opening his eyes. He had no idea what could help, but, in this moment, he would gladly accept whatever he could get.

Maybe a minute, maybe an hour later later, something smooth and warm and soft pressed against his mouth. Despite his excruciating discomfort, Jared’s eyes snapped open and he parted his lips in a startled gasp. Assaf’s face was right next to his; it was his firm lips that had brushed against Jared’s. And the other man took advantage of Jared’s surprise, exhaling a steady stream of smoke into the young Englishman’s mouth. Jared coughed, but breathed most of it in. For the second time in his life, Jared found himself smoking.

**_Somerset, England in the summer of 1851_ **

_Their first, formal dinner together with James’ roommate had been an awkward, stilted affair. More so than usual, Jared thought to himself, if such a thing were actually possible. Oh, his parents had been polite, to be sure, but there were the subtle jabs and barbed insults laced amid the servings of roasted fowl and potatoes. Carefully masked insults slipped in between the layers of the desert trifle. And disguised affronts flowed like the copious amounts of wine that was served with the meal. Jared wished he could be surprised by it all, but he’d witnessed on far too many occasions how intolerant his father was of others, especially those who had not been born on British soil. And not for the first time, he wondered why the man should be so, considering the senior Padalecki was only the first on his father’s side to hail from England. Jared was too afraid to ask, however; he wasn’t brave. James was the courageous one; James was the one who had escaped and begun to carve a life for himself away from the family and become his own man. Jared didn’t think he would ever be so fortunate._

_Once James had secured a change of studies at university, their father had come down harshly on Jared. George Padalecki was determined to never once give his youngest the opportunity to even entertain a thought beyond assuming the family mantle in the business world. And after his bout with the strange malady that struck when he was twelve, Jared had been pulled forthwith from his school and hidden away within the manor, with a steady stream of tutors after that, to protect his “fragile” health. It was all the excuse his father had needed. Business, finance, management and trade were his only school chums then. All his lessons tailored to the study of commerce. And his father had become even more rigid in certain demands he placed on Jared of a more personal nature. More than once, he had longed to talk to James about some it, but he had kept silent in the end partly out of embarrassment regarding his father’s “requirements” and partly to protect his brother. He never wanted his older brother to feel guilty about how his choices had affected Jared’s life since it was because of Jared that his older brother had changed the course of his life; he knew James would do something rash if he had known the truth, known how their father kept Jared under his thumb, and James was so obviously thriving in his studies. So he’d kept silent, smiled at the appropriate times, and never once let on to his brother how intolerable life had become. But while he was willing to remain silent to protect James’ lifestyle, he was surprised to find himself bristling when their father denigrated their guest._

Jensen, _he reminded himself_. He told me to call him “Jensen”.

_Although Jensen, it appeared, needed to have no one come to his defense. For every mean spirited quip his father tossed out, Jensen seemed to parry with practiced ease. It was frankly amazing to watch someone match wits so easily with George Padalecki, never giving any quarter, nor asking for any. Despite how the man behaved at times, Jared’s father was incredibly well-versed in a variety of subjects and had a keen and decisive mind. It was part and parcel of what made him so formidable a business director and one of the East India Company’s best._

_Even now, after the meal had ended and Jared’s mother had retreated to her drawing room to do whatever it was that she did to pass the evening alone and the men to George’s smoking room (somehow Jared had for once managed to secure an invitation into the inner sanctum), George continued to harangue Jensen regarding his country and “world” politics, although Jared suspected George’s world view didn’t extend beyond England’s interests, more specifically those of the East India Company._

_“Well,” Jensen drawled, “I hope you won’t take offence, but I think you would be hard pressed not to admit even the E.I.C. isn’t infallible. In point of fact, there is the slight matter of the debacle of 1821 to recall. I would think bombarding a city, razing it, over a perceived treaty breech - a treaty they had never signed – would be seen as some as a…mistake. Wouldn’t you agree?”_

_George narrowed his gaze, but propriety dictated he behave in a civil matter. So Jared watched as he stepped behind his mahogany desk, lifted up the cedar box containing his latest imported cigars from Havana, Cuba, and offered one to Jensen. James’ roommate leaned closer, perused the twenty or so cheroots inside the brightly labeled container, but then declined with a wave of his hand. He reached inside his impeccable and smart black dinner jacket and withdrew a slim, gold case. Jared tried hard not to stare, knowing that the behavior was ill mannered, but the case had some unusual markings on it – dark, uneven swirls and whorls that he suspected might be another language – and he was ever so curious._

_With a flick of his wrist, Jensen flipped the case open and withdrew the most slender cheroot Jared had ever seen. George actually looked down his nose at it and scoffed, “A cigarette?”_

_Jensen leaned forward to bend over one of the small lamps on a side table, his cigarette firmly between his lips, and lit it from the flame within. Settling back onto the leather couch, he released a narrow puff of smoke. “Turkish,” he confirmed._

_“Oh. You must have had to bring a trunk full over to last through the next three years or so while you study,” he remarked offhandedly, deftly redirecting the conversation away from more volatile subjects such as the destruction of an innocent town._

_Jensen smiled as he crossed his legs. There was an easy grace to his movements, Jared noted, and an air of unflappability to him. He drew in another breath of smoke, held it and then released it through his nostrils. His green eyes glinted in the lamplight and despite the air of respectability about him, Jared couldn’t help but shiver at the predator he could see lurking below the surface, like some great cat, languid and lethal simultaneously. His father was outmatched and didn’t have the sense to know it._

_“Hardly. Your Philip Morris on Bond Street in the West End has been stocking these for several years now. I would have thought you’d have been aware of such imports,” he replied easily, “since the E.I.C. seems to care so much about what people smoke and how and from whom they obtain it.” And just like that, Jensen steered the conversation into dangerous waters again._

_Jared suspected that the gentile remark was a barely concealed nod to the opium that the East India Company, through intermediaries, sold to China. It was all very discreet, of course, since China had deemed opium illegal during the last century. And eighteen years ago, his father’s company had lost the near stranglehold they had had on that particular trade. Completion had grown fierce. Jared’s tutors had been very thorough in strengthening his understanding of the family business, so to speak. And he was an apt pupil._

_Jared ducked his head and hoped his fringe covered up the amusement in his eyes even as he cupped his hand over his mouth as Jensen got one over on his father. The youngest Padalecki knew if he angered him, he would probably never be invited back to the velvet-draped room, which held a few bookshelves of rich, dark wood he hadn’t yet had the chance to peruse. And he was itching to take a gander at the collections they housed._

_James snorted loudly, but blamed the brandy he had been enjoying. “Sorry about that,” he apologized. “I inhaled when I should have swallowed.” George shook his head in distaste as James wiped his face with his pocket square, but Jared knew what his brother had been up to. The commotion James had created had been a diversion for Jared to collect himself and he gave his brother a brief, but blinding, grin as he got himself under control. Casting a quick glance at Jensen, Jared was startled to see those forest green eyes trained on him. With smoke curling up from the cigarette held loosely in his hand, Jensen had taken on the appearance of something somewhat ethereal. As those eyes bored into him, Jared wondered if the man had dabbled in hypnotism, for he felt mesmerized._

_George removed his watch from his pocket and checked the time. With a decisive click, he snapped the timepiece shut. “I hadn’t realized the hour and I think the evening has run its course, gentlemen,” the eldest Padalecki decreed, “especially if James cannot hold his liquor for more than a few minutes.” Again, Jared marveled at how his father was the one to cut short their time together and somehow lay the blame at his brother’s feet._

_James sighed, but placed his snifter on the table in front of the couch and made to get up. Jensen brought his cigarette to his lips and took another drag before rising as well. “I think I’ll finish this outside, if you don’t mind?” and he made a motion in the general direction of the French doors that opened to the gardens beyond._

_“Of course,” George agreed amiably enough. He turned to say something to Jared, and Jared’s heart was racing. He didn’t want the evening to end quite yet. So he preempted whatever his father might have said with a spate of coughs._

_Between hacking, he wheezed out, “Perhaps I should take in some fresh air before bedtime. I can see why Mother insisted this room be so far from the dining and drawing rooms,” he added, waving his hand to dramatically clear the smoke._

_His father scrutinized Jared for a moment. “Yes, perhaps you should,” he admitted after a long pause. “And perhaps you shouldn’t dally within these walls again, given your infirmities. What do you think, James, seeing as how you’re the medical expert? Do you think this is the best atmosphere for your younger brother?” Jared’s heart sunk at the thought of never getting the chance to look over some of the titles in the myriad bookshelves along the walls. And he was certain that was his father’s goal all along, his punishment._

_James, nearly to the door, turned and gave his father an odd look. “I wouldn’t say I’m an expert. At least, not yet, but someday I will be. As for this,” he motioned to the hazy air, “well, it may very well turn out to be an unhealthy atmosphere for some.” Jared’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t think that James would side with Father, but he supposed his older brother had little choice, backed into the corner, as it were. “I would add, in my ‘expert’ opinion, that excessive smoke might very well ruin the pages of your collection in here and it would probably be a wise idea to move the majority of it into the library. If you think it unhealthy for your son, I would think you would also wish to afford your books some protection as well, given how you value them.”_

_George nodded slightly. “I suspected as much,” he murmured. Then, more loudly, he added, “I’ll take you opinion under advisement, James. I’m sure you only have your brother’s best interest at heart.”_

_“I always do. Goodnight, Father,” he answered. He gave Jared a small smile and then a brisk jerk of his head towards Jensen, before closing the door behind him._

_Without further ado, Jensen opened the double doors and the cool, night air rushed in. “Shall we?” he motioned to Jared, inclining his head. Jared glanced briefly at the elder Padalecki, who stood motionless, fingers steepled on his desk’s edge, before bobbing his head up and down. He tried hard not to scurry past his father, but it was a near thing. As soon as he stepped out, Jensen was close behind, only pausing long enough to close the doors behind him with a soft snick of the latches, before taking the lead. They walked in silence through pools of light from the various rooms the servants were still cleaning before they meandered their way along the hedge-lined, gravel path that formed the boundaries of the garden, where there was only moonlight to illuminate their route, but it was more than adequate._

_Every thirty feet or so, a marble statue stood sentry duty. At a particularly pompous looking Roman general, Jensen sauntered over and leaned his back against the carved shield the figure held. He causally crossed his legs at the ankles and took another drag of his cigarette. They hadn’t exchanged words since leaving the house, and Jared felt unsure and off-balance. He couldn’t explain his rash behavior within his father’s smoking room and knew he’d pay for it later, one way or another, although he’d admired James’ quick attempt at giving Jared another chance with the books. His brother was clever that way, and often was faster on his feet than their father gave him credit for. He probably would have made a sharp businessman, but Jared could only imagine how much more good he would do in his chosen field._

_But here, with James’ roommate –_ Jensen…he told me I could call him “Jensen” _– Jared was both nervous and excited. He didn’t think a person could feel so many conflicting emotions all at the same time. Not knowing what to do with himself, he clasped his hands behind his back and dropped his head back to take in the stars, easily spotting Ursa Major among others. But as the silence dragged on, broken only by the subtle crinkle of paper burning each time Jensen inhaled from his cigarette, Jared soon grew distracted and darted his eyes more than once in Jensen’s direction._

_With each drag, the end of Jensen’s cigarette flared to life, glowing tangerine bright in the night. Jared’s gaze travelled upwards to Jensen’s mouth, where his lips were wrapped around his smoke. Jared had never really noticed another man’s mouth before, but found himself taken with Jensen’s. His lips were full, a dull red in the moonlight and Jared found himself licking his own, wondering what Jensen’s mouth might feel like pressed against his own. When he finally tore away from the man’s lips to take in the rest of him, Jared was once again shocked to see the other man’s emerald eyes fixed keenly on him. He swallowed anxiously._

_Slowly, one corner of Jensen’s mouth curled up as he plucked the cigarette from his lips. “Want a taste?” he asked, in a voice low and rough. Jared shivered at the sound, frozen to the spot. Jensen’s head swayed slightly from side to side and he licked at his lower lip._

_“W-what?” he finally stammered, certain he sounded like an idiot. But Jared had no idea what to say._

_Jensen straightened up and sauntered over. “The way you’ve been snatching glances all evening, unable to keep your eyes away,” he continued in the same gravel-sharp tone, “I thought you’d like to try one.” He held out his hand and offered Jared his cigarette. “Lord knows, your father would never let you.”_

_Jared let out a huge breath. The cigarette. Of course._

_Moving so that he was completely in Jared’s space, Jensen added, “He doesn’t seem keen on allowing you anything, does he? I would, though. I would allow you many things, Jared.”_

_Jared felt a thrill race up and down his spine at the word “allow”. He reached out for the offered smoke, meaning to bring it up to his mouth, but Jensen kept hold of it and did it himself, rough palm grazing the delicate flesh of his mouth. Never letting his eyes leave Jensen’s, Jared leaned closer, wrapped his lips around it, catching along a bit of skin from Jensen’s fingers as he did so, and took a deep breath. The smoke burned all the way down and he was certain his eyes were watering, but Jared, with Jensen’s gaze holding him captive, had never tasted anything as exciting in his whole life._

The smoke he breathed in now was smoother, easier to hold. He knew what it was, finally realized he’s been smelling and breathing some of it in since he entered the humid and steamy hammam. He’d caught whiffs of sweet, almost edible, scent in Calcutta.

Opium.

But while he struggled with what he was doing, the burning of his body began to recede like a tide returning to the ocean. It was so subtle a change that Jared almost didn’t notice it. And as that consuming pain lessened, he felt a warm pressure begin to grow within his head. It wasn’t painful, but confusing. Releasing a swirl of thick, white smoke, Jared opened his eyes. Assaf had pulled back, although he was still sitting on the edge of the octagonal pedestal, and was watching him intently. Jared was unsurprised to see the huqqa was closer than when he had entered the hammam. The candlelight glinted off the colored glass, ruby highlights winking in the shifting light.

 _When had that moved?_ he wondered, but let his gaze drift back up towards the ceiling.

The shafts of moonlight sliced through the steam in strange patterns, knives cutting through the billowing clouds with surgical precision. Jared tried to trace them in his mind, but that made him dizzy. Without realizing it, his eyes slipped shut. A strange and foreign lassitude was spreading throughout his body, slow and syrup-thick like treacle. His limbs weighed hundreds of pounds and he could barely lift a finger. He mumbled something, but forgot what it was immediately after.

“Good,” he heard Assaf reply from a great distance and then the man’s lips were on his again. This time, Jared opened willingly and sucked in the comfort that was offered to him.

Whatever pain he had been in was long since gone. The flames burnt out to nothing more than warm embers, comforting and relaxing to his muscles. The knots in his stomach had loosened and the pressure eased within his skull. The hands that had been restraining him were suddenly soothing. Warm water sluiced over his body and nimble fingers followed its path, slipping and sliding with unnatural ease over his skin. He didn’t flinch when those hands moved between his legs, manipulated his manhood and smoothed something cooling between his arse cheeks and over his sack. Other hands rubbed along his arms, some over his torso and others through his still damp hair. Jared lost track of how many were touching him, feeling only drowsy and warm. His earlier fears and humiliation were distant shadows in his mind. He drifted like flotsam on a vast ocean, small and insignificant.

A thousand leagues away, he heard Assaf talking to someone again. He cracked his eyes open and let them wander lazily about the room. Off near one of the doors, he saw Assaf gesturing and talking to someone behind the elaborate screen. He squinted, trying to make out who it was, but they were wrapped in shadows that Jared couldn’t dissect. Blinking heavily, he gave up and went back to staring at the ceiling while those hands continued to rub and smooth something over his entire body. Whatever the substance was cooled as it passed, so Jared didn’t dwell on its nature. It was suddenly so easy to let go of his concerns and sink.

“There is something still to come,” Assaf voice floated over him. “A quick pain, but still pain. Would you like me to ease it?”

Jared rolled his head towards the man. “No more pain,” he sighed.

Assaf seated himself by Jared’s shoulder and lifted up the articulated tubing of the huqqa, slipping the metal tip into his mouth. Watching with rapt attention, Jared saw him take in a deep breath and hold it. When the odalik leaned over this time, Jared managed to raise his arm, despite the fact that it was surely filled with lead, and wrap his hand behind the other’s man head to pull him in close. Their lips pressed together for a brief moment before Assaf opened up to fill Jared with the smoke. As he breathed it in, his hand slipped away and he closed his eyes. Someone caught it and gently stretched out his arm by his side, but held on. His other arm was carefully kept in place as well. Jared slowly exhaled, and everything was light and easy.

More words were being spoken over him, but Jared couldn’t follow along. The comforting hands were firm and he relaxed into them, only flinching once when cold fingers trailed over his nipples. They swirled around, teasing and plucking. The touch made him shiver and tremble; no one had ever touched him like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. Eventually, their relentless prodding stopped and he sank deeper into his thoughts. The stone beneath him was no longer hard, but simply firm liked packed sand. He had a notion that he was back in the desert with Ibrahim, under the tent, waiting for the last prayer of the night. It was good to be back. He’d let the song of devotion carry him off, maybe even dream of Jensen again. Jensen, grinning and teasing, before Jared had wiped the smile from those soft lips…

A sudden, stabbing pinch ripped him from his reverie and he struggled to peel open his eyes. When he managed to get them to half-mast, he then had the herculean task of raising his head up a few inches. All he could see was the top of someone’s head, covered in a thatch of black hair. They were doing something to his chest. His left nipple ached dimly and something tugged along the skin there.

“Wha-“ was all he managed to mumble.

“It is almost finished,” Assaf soothed.

Jared blearily tried to follow the sound of his voice, but it was all too much effort. Before he could nod off, however, another spearing pain shot through his body, this time from his right nipple. But when he was finally able to lift his head again and focus on the man who had been bent over him, the man was gone. In the odd mix of moonbeams and candlelight, something glinted on his chest. Squinting, Jared tried to make out what it was. He blinked furiously, attempting to focus on the glittering objects and, with some detachment, realized that he had a pair of simple, golden hoops threaded through his nipple.

“How?” he mumbled. No matter what he did, he couldn’t lift a hand to test for himself if the jewelry was truly there or not.

“Best not to touch tonight,” Assaf said quietly, stroking Jared’s hair. “Only one more thing and then you can rest. We are waiting for Worthy to return. He was needed to escort…never mind. That is not important.”

Jared let his eyes close once more. The throbbing ache in his nipples was a dull discomfort he could mostly ignore. He wrapped himself up once again in the warmth of the sand all around him and tried to hear Kadeem’s singing. He didn’t notice when a deeper voice joined the others in the room or when his legs were spread farther apart. But he did rouse more when he felt rough-skinned hands lift and move his privates. Cracking an eye open, he saw Worthy had come back and was kneeling between his spread legs. Vaguely, Jared noted he was completely smooth and hairless down there now. He supposed he should have been shocked, horrified even, but everything was muted. He watched as Worthy opened up a hinged, rounded ring and fastened it around both the base of his sack and his manhood before closing it up. He then took Jared’s cock in hand and slipped what looked like a strange cage – comprised of smaller, rounded rings that were all joined together at the same point underneath, which made them fan out – over it completely. Somehow, the two pieces connected on top and he heard the click of a lock fastening. Jared let his head fall back and giggled.

“Much more compact than the one my father used to make me wear, you know?” he told Assaf or maybe the room in general. Jared wasn’t sure.

 _“W-what is that?” Jared stuttered, taking in the odd item his father held between his hands. “Is it a-a codpiece?” He’d seen suits of armor at the British Museum, with parts that appeared similar, but none had such an obvious protuberance that looked like, well, that looked like_ that _._

_His father flipped the piece of silver, slightly smaller than his mother’s finest dinner china in its circumference, over and over in his hands. As he did so, Jared was able to see bits of leather that were attached to each corner of the nearly triangular, metal plate, with at least one ending in a buckle._

_“Something like that,” he answered. He had some color to his cheeks and Jared was surprised to realize his father was flustered. That never happened. “You are to wear it every night, Jared,” he added and thrust the thing into his son’s hands. “And during the day when not under your mother’s or my direct supervision.”_

_Jared was so startled that he nearly dropped the thing. “I am?” he gulped. “But-but why?”_

_“Doctor’s instructions,” he father tersely replied. “It is to prevent ‘self-abuse’ as he put it, which might have contributed to your recent malady.”_

_Jared felt his face grow hot and flushed. “F-father, I never –”_

_“Don’t,” his father interrupted, raising his hand. “I do not want to hear it, Jared. It is a known, medical fact that that sort of thing can lead to stomach pains, nausea, weakness of the organs and breathing, weakening of your mental strength and a variety of other issues. Certainly sounds like some of your previous symptoms, wouldn't you agree?”_

_Jared could only nod, because those were a few of his symptoms, but he had never done anything of that nature before. He had never touched himself in such a manner and wouldn't even know why he’d want to. Certainly, he’d interrupted his brother once when the older boy had been otherwise engaged, but Jared had run from the room, beet red and couldn’t look him in the eye for the rest of the day. Of course, James had found it all frightfully amusing and told him one day he would have certain needs and then he would understand. Jared didn't quite believe him, but he had eventually asked James a question or two. James had a way of explaining things without making Jared feel small for asking. It was not something he could have ever gone to his father about. As he ran trembling fingers over the unforgiving metal, he knew he would never be able to talk to James about this. It was simply too mortifying._

_Nodding once to his son, George Padalecki rose stiffly from the chair he had been seated upon and made a dismissive gesture to the “device” currently in his son’s hands. “I suspect you should be able to figure out how to wear the item on your own. You're a smart enough lad. I would imagine it is fairly self-explanatory.”_

_Jared tried one more time. “But, Father, I don't…”_

_“Jared Tristan, you will do as I say! And don't think your mother and I won't check on you periodically, to make sure you're following the doctor’s directive.”_

_Jared, head bowed, could only nod once more. It seemed his father had stolen his words from him. Shame colored his face at the thought of his mother asking about or, Heaven forbid, demanding to see if Jared was wearing it. That fear alone would all but ensure he wore it at all times. And, wincing at the portion that was obviously meant to house his cock, Jared knew he would never be able to breathe a word of this to James. As his father slowly exited Jared’s bedroom, he rose and began to undo his trousers, trying hard not to weep like a child._

“Come,” Assaf urged him into a seated position. “It is over.”

Glassy-eyed, Jared was pushed upwards. Several hands guided his legs together and lowered them off the pedestal. His chest ached mildly as other hands slipped under his arms and lifted him upright. His head sagged and his chin nearly brushed against his breastbone. It was too heavy to lift and Jared couldn't be bothered to do it, so he let it hang down. Someone wrapped something silky around his hips. The cage made his manhood’s bulge appear slightly bigger and he giggled at the absurdity of it all.

“Come. Let us help you to the soğukluk. You can rest there, drink some cool water and recover for a time. Yes?” the odalik cajoled.

“Hmm,” Jared hummed in agreement. He wasn't capable of much else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, you can see a matching pair of adolescent chastity belts, circa 1850, up for sale [here](http://www.rauantiques.com/item/two-continental-silver-chastity-devices.29-3559.html).
> 
> On a personal note, rest in peace, Mr. Bowie.


	10. Chapter 10

Someone pressed a glass to Jared’s mouth. He opened up, more out of reflex than conscious decision, and cool water slipped past his lips. Wrapping his hands around the glass, he didn’t realize he was so parched, so eager for more, until the first, cool draught hit him. But whoever had control of the cup slowed him down, forced Jared to drink only small amounts at a time.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Shh,” a feminine voice soothed. “Not too much at once.”

Jared nodded in agreement, hoping that would be enough encouragement for the disembodied voice to continue to let him drink. How long had he been abandoned in the desert to be so thirsty? It must have been forever. His throat was cracked and dry, shattered.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying. Why was he apologizing? There was only one person he owed any confession to. The things he had _done_ ; the things he had _said_. He would surely burn for them.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again, throat thick with regret. “For what I said,” he hiccupped, splashing water down his chin in the process, batting ineffectually at it. “For what I did,” he croaked.

“What did you do?” the voice asked, not unkindly. “You can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jared repeated. “I’m so very sorry.”

“Come now. It can’t be as bad as all that,” the voice assured him. But Jared could only swallow back a sob.

“Shh.” And a delicate, soft hand stroked through his hair. The touch was unfamiliar, but the comfort was welcomed nonetheless and he would take it. Jared, who hadn’t really opened his eyes since he’d been moved from the sıcaklık, sank deeper into the sand. He was drifting, drowning. And when had he returned to the ship? That was surely the reason behind the swaying and rocking of his body. Seasick again. No, not seasick and not the ocean. The rocking was looser than that. There was the roll and dip and cadence of something very familiar. Horses, maybe, his mind finally settled on.

“Horses?” the voice asked. It might have said something else. Phrases like “too much” and “disappointed” echoed in the background. But Jared didn’t dwell on those things. He just remembered the horses.

With that thought embedded in his mind, Jared tipped over into sleep.

_He didn’t know how James had managed it, but he wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity. His older, wonderful, clever brother had secured an afternoon – an entire afternoon – for them not only free from their parents, but for riding along the estate. That was twice since he’d returned with his roommate – Jensen – that they’d managed such a brilliant escape. Spending time with James was something Jared treasured, but getting to spend it with Jensen as well was quite another thing._

_The more time he spent in the company of the unusual man – he couldn’t use the term “foreigner”, wouldn’t turn into his father no matter what – the more he was fascinated by him. Jared had never met anyone like Jensen before. Although he had to laugh at himself for those thoughts. Meet someone? When did Jared ever meet anyone beyond his tutors or the rare, business associate his father brought over to entertain? Oh, there were soirées on occasion, and as he had turned sixteen this summer, there would be more of those so that Jared could be introduced to “young women of appropriate breeding and connections”, as his father had so eloquently stated it._

_“Breeding,” echoed in his head. Jared might as well have been a head of cattle or a horse for all that his father cared about his own wants. His value measured only in his ability to be put out to stud; secure an heir to the Padalecki name, since James seemed in no hurry to do so, and form a merger of assets that met with his father’s approval, which was something James would never do. He wasn’t anticipating his formal introduction to the ton one iota. The social elite of his father’s peers would stare and judge and Jared was certain he would be found wanting. After all, when had he not been? His father wasted no opportunity in reminding him of his flaws, of which there were many. He would be lucky if a woman found him interesting at all, his father had repeated on more than one occasion. It did not go unnoticed that meeting a man of means was never laid on the table for discussion. Jared never questioned why, of course, because he rarely questioned. Jared assumed it probably had to do with siring an heir. But Jared had caught a few whispers here and there about men who could carry children, too. He supposed, however, the odds of meeting a carrier, falling in love with him and having the man meet his father's rigid standards were beyond astronomical. He wanted to make his father happy, wanted to please him and make him proud. It seemed he never could, though, regardless of the sacrifice or price he paid._

_“Here now, little brother,” he heard James remark, drawing him from his unpleasant reverie. “Woolgathering on such a beautiful day? Seems a terrible waste, don’t you think?”_

_Jared shifted in his saddle and took in his brother. James was on Lizzie, a spirited chestnut mare. He appeared vaguely uncomfortable and not just with his riding habit. Although he would be loath to admit to it, riding was simply not a pastime James enjoyed or excelled at. At over six and a half feet, he made for an imposing figure when astride, but Jared knew that James was somewhat fearful of horses, not trusting them entirely. And, as amusing and unlikely as it seemed, his older brother also had a slight fear of heights. Putting him and horses together was never a capital idea. But James knew how much Jared loved riding, the one sport his parents had indulged him in, more than likely only for propriety’s sake. Riding and riding well was expected amongst the ton; therefore, Jared had been properly trained and had taken to it like a fish to water in point of fact._

_Jared gave James a smile full of gratitude. “Thank you,” he said softly as the three of them walked their horses along the verdant fields of the northern portion of the estate. It was more open there; a collection of various pastures and fields separated by hedgerows with denser woods only visible in the distance. “I know this isn’t what you’d rather being doing,” he added, even quieter._

_James stretched his hand out and knocked Jared on his shoulder. “I’d rather see you smile, Gigglemug.”_

_Jared lowered his head to hide the blush he knew was spreading like a wildfire across his cheeks. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Jensen, in fashionable gear of fawn pants, shiny, black boots that stopped above the knee and a coat of midnight blue. He had forgone his usual headdress and instead wore a black top hat. For some unnamed reason, Jared missed the former and begrudged the latter. Jensen cocked his head, narrowed his eyes and gave him an assessing stare. Despite the warmth of the summer sun beating down on his shoulders, Jared shivered as a small rivulet of perspiration slithered between his shoulder blades._

_“You’re right, dear brother,” Jared managed once he’d found his voice again. “’Tis too beautiful a day to waste.” With a click of his tongue, his mount rose to the command and sped up from the easy walk all three had been maintaining to a canter. While Mary, an older, grey mare, might have a sweet disposition, she was no slouch when it came to speed. Having taken the other two men by surprise, the pair easily left them behind._

_The three-beat gait was comforting and familiar to Jared, like the rocking of the wooden toy he’d had as a child. Rising ever so slightly into a half-seat, heals pushed down into the stirrup, he welcomed the familiar stretch in his calf muscles. As they went along, every stride Mary took, Jared felt in the rolling of his own hips as though she were an extension of his body. After a minute or so, he came to a near stop and then sent the mare around her back end in a tight circle, performing a pirouette perfectly, before carrying on as before. But, in that brief moment, he had caught sight of his two riding companions in the not-too-far distance._

_James was muttering and sputtering, kicking at Lizzie’s sides and flapping his elbows like that would somehow make his mare go faster. Jared brought a gloved hand to his mouth, desperate to not laugh too loudly at his sibling, considering that their excursion in its entirety was his doing and Jared was beholden to him. But it was a near thing. Jensen, however…_

_Jensen was astride his bay stallion like he’d been born to it. There wasn’t a single excess to his movements, everything tightly in control and natural at the same time. Jared didn’t even know how he’d signaled his mount, an animal he’d only met that afternoon, but suddenly Jensen and the bay broke away from James, transitioning easily from their canter to a full-on gallop, closing the distance between them lightening quick. Jared stopped his daydreaming and signaled Mary to pick up her pace. The race was clearly on._

_Jared leaned closer to Mary’s neck as he tried to shape himself into a sleeker line and get his hands nearer to her mouth. He rose farther up in the saddle, putting more weight into his heels. Shifting the reins to his left hand in a half bridge, Jared clasped some of the mare’s mane in his right to help with his balance. Her gait changed to a four-beat movement as her speed increased. Each thud of her hooves reverberated in Jared’s chest, ratcheting up his heartbeat until it was pounding in time with Mary. Racing along the hedgerow, Jared smiled wickedly and a laugh escaped his lips. He and his mare were practically soaring; the two of them chasing freedom, clear sky above and green flying beneath them. He was so caught up in the moment that Jared was shocked when a blur of rusty brown and blue tore past them. Jensen had pulled to the forefront. That simply wouldn't do, he thought._

_“Come on, Mary,” he urged his mount. “We can do better!”_

_Jensen and his stallion disappeared over the hill, the stallion’s black tipped tail flicking at them mockingly as they did. Jared eked out a bit more speed from his mare and they made for the ridge hot on Jensen’s heels, as it were. But when they crested, Jared was struck speechless by what he saw._

_Jensen and Jacob (why his father had a penchant for naming males with the letter “J” he would never know) were a good thirty or forty feet ahead and showed no signs of slowing. But Jensen was no longer bent over the center of his horse. He was nearly upright in his saddle, reins abandoned, arms flung wide and his head tossed back. He held himself astride by the strength of his legs alone. Somewhere along the way, he had obviously lost his hat and Jared openly gaped as the sun lingered on his golden tresses. Jared marveled as Jensen’s upper torso never seemed to move while his hips churned along with the stallion’s gait, the personification of raw power. Jared and Mary might have been chasing freedom, but in that moment, Jensen_ was _freedom._

_Slowing down his girl, Jared spied Jensen’s wayward hat caught in the hedgerow. He knew he was beaten; there was no way he could overtake Jensen, so he instead decided to collect his lost gear. Easily jumping down from his mare, Jared plucked the hat from the clinging vines of woodbine; their perfume, a mere ghost of the richness they released at dusk, still managed to cling to the stove pipe. As he beat the thing free of dust, Jared couldn’t help but take in another scent as well, something at once musky and sharp. Jensen, his addled mind supplied the name. He was smelling Jensen. And it was addictive._

_“Ho, there,” the object of his fascination called out. “I see you found my blasted hat.”_

_Jared glanced up dumbly and realized rather belatedly that Jensen had circled back and was only a few feet away from him and Mary. Although much shorter than his own, Jensen’s fair locks were tousled madly from his haphazard race. His cheeks were ruddy from the sun and exertion, lips flushed a deep red. He looked so alive in the moment. Jared would have given just about anything to see him as he had been minutes ago, arms wide and free. It seemed rather a shame to give him back his hat and watch the thin veneer of civilization settle over him once again. For Jared was certain that was all a mask, a ruse to confuse those around him and blend in. Jensen was something wild and predatory amongst the sedate, English flock he moved through._

_Hand outstretched, Jensen cocked his head once more, seeming to contemplate Jared as much as the younger man was studying him. His green eyes glinted gold in the afternoon sun and Jared wondered what was brewing behind their seemingly placid depths. They stood as if in a frozen tableau until Jacob snorted and pawed with bent knee at the ground in front of him. Jared snapped out of his daze and blushed, ducking his head even as he handed Jensen back his hat._

_“Wait up!” James cried. Both men turned before either had a chance to speak, the strange spell broken._

_“Flapping about like some great emu won’t do you a spot of good, James,” Jensen quipped as he seated his hat atop his head. “There is no chance of you taking flight.”_

_As the two older men joked and ribbed each other with ease, Jared walked back over to Mary. Clasping the reins in his left hand, he stuck his left foot in the stirrup, grabbed the back end of the saddle, bounced up and swung himself back into position. By the time he’d reined her around, James and Jensen were walking their horses abreast, lost in conversation as their easy banter drifted back towards Jared. Judging by their direction, it appeared the men had called it a day and were heading back towards the stables and home. Noting the sun’s position low in the clear sky, Jared did his best to hide his disappointment, smiling or offering him an encouraging nod whenever James glanced back over his shoulder at him. But, bringing up the rear, the men’s laughter ringing in his ear, he felt like a third wheel on an American, one-horse shay – cumbersome and unnecessary for the two-wheeled carriage._

_The ride back to the stables proved most uneventful. There were no spontaneous races, no more glimpses into Jensen’s true nature. Only the two students laughing and sharing jests that passed over Jared’s head. He knew it wasn’t intentional; James and Jensen lived together for all intents and purposes. Of course, their shared history would allow them to speak in a kind of “short-writing” that Jared simply wasn’t privy to. There was no malice or intended slight in their actions. Jared tried to dwell on the earlier parts of the afternoon and not appear ungrateful for what was a wonderful outing. But he had a sense that James knew something was amiss with him._

_“Tired?” he asked as Jared dismounted._

_“Not at all, big brother,” he assured his sibling. He felt Jensen’s eyes on him, judging and evaluating. “Maybe a touch,” he finally added. “It’s been some months since I’ve had the chance to stretch my legs like this.” Flashing his brother a brilliant grin, he clasped James’ hand. “Thank you,” he breathed._

_The slightly worried frown James had been sporting melted at the words. “I wish I could do more.”_

_“You do more than enough,” Jared assured him and, deciding to take the high road and not ruin the late afternoon with his morose behavior, he offered, “and, as a ‘thank you’, I will even rub down Lizzie for you. And Jacob for you,” he tossed out at Jensen. Their father was a firm believer in taking care of one’s mount oneself, despite the ample stable hands available._

_James was about to protest, but thought better of it. “I’ll accept that offer.” After thinking it over for a moment, he narrowed his gaze at Jared. “I suppose I’ll have to entertain our parents without you then.”_

_“Shame that,” Jared agreed with lowered head, although he peered up through his fringe at his older brother with a sparkle of mischief in his eye._

_“Bloody shame that,” James agreed before cuffing Jared upside his head. “I think I’ve been gulled again by this little ‘confidence man’.” Handing Jared the reins to Lizzie, he turned to Jensen. “Shall we?”_

_Jared shifted so that he had the reins for both mares in one hand and made to take Jacob’s from Jensen, but the man surprised him by refusing the offer._

_“No offence, but I would prefer to see to this fellow myself,” Jensen said._

_Jared took a step back. “None taken,” he replied, although that wasn’t entirely true. He did take a small measure of offense at the implication that he wasn’t qualified enough to rub down a horse from his father’s stables. He might not be quite as fine a rider as Jensen, but he was more than able to groom a stallion._

_James turned from one to the other before finally shrugging. “Fine, I’ll just act the buffoon for my parents delight as a distraction, while you two try to best one another with your brushing skills.” Shaking his head, James walked away, slapping the remnants of dust from his breeches._

_Jared led the two mares into the stable, while Jensen walked Jacob beside them. The silence, broken only by the hot, moist breathing of the horses, was unpleasant. Jared’s good mood was completely obliterated and he quietly began routing through the various bits of lorinery on a work bench for some curry combs after he had tethered the ladies in their stalls. He noticed Jensen needed no help with Jacob, apparently having remembered without issue which stall was his._

_“Here,” he snapped without preamble and practically shoved one of the metal brushes into Jensen’s hand._

_“Thanks,” Jensen replied, somewhat bemused. Jared merely grunted and entered Lizzie’s stall. He removed his coat and placed it across one of the partition walls in the stall and rolled up his sleeves before tossing his hat towards the work bench. Standing on her right, he took the curry comb and began brushing down her body, carefully avoiding her face and anything below her knees or hocks, where the skin was too thin for it. She had that smell unique to a horse – sweat, mixed with dust, wood chips and hay from the stable. As he switched out to a dandy brush, Jared remembered something about Jacob._

_“Be careful about his barrel with the curry comb because he’s a bit –”_

_A loud thud sounded out as Jacob kicked his stall door._

_“Let me hazard a guess,” Jensen replied. “Ticklish?”_

_Jared pressed his face against Lizzie’s side to smother his laughter. Served the know-it-all right, he figured._

_“Anything else I should be aware of?” the older man asked, muttering something about touchy stallions under his breath._

_“Oh, are you asking_ me _?” Jared replied after a beat. He didn’t mean to come across as childish, but he couldn’t disguise the irritated tone in his voice._

_“Yes, Jared,” Jensen sighed, clearly put upon, “I am.”_

_“Hmm, let me think,” he drawled, tapping his finger to his chin even though he was sure Jensen couldn’t see him. “No,” he answered after a long pause, “I think that was it.”_

_“Well, if anything else comes to mind, please do tell,” Jensen quipped. More seriously, he continued, “Jared, earlier I didn’t mean to imply you were incompetent…”_

_“Could have fooled me,” Jared whispered._

_“I merely had no desire to insult James. He is my host, after all, and when I saw an opportunity to escape your parents’ company for a little while longer, I took it.”_

_“Oh,” the younger man exhaled. “I see.” Jared wasn’t sure if the admission made him feel better or worse. He was pleased Jensen didn’t view him as an incompetent, but realized lingering behind with him was only an excuse to avoid his parents. Understandable decision, considering how they treated him, but unsatisfactory in a way._

_For a while, the only noise in the stable was the rhythmic scraping of brushes and the occasional snuffle from one horse or another. Shafts of sunlight splintered through the stables, making the dust dance and twirl in a strange ballet. It should have been a peaceful moment, but the more time passed, the more sullen Jared became. Rationally, he knew he wasn’t all that close to Jensen. The few times they had been alone had been oddly unsettling. Their conversations few and far between, and when they did converse, Jared was always left with the uneasy notion that something was being left unsaid, like he was missing a crucial piece to a puzzle and Jensen was holding all the answers. But he had hoped, once he had realized the man didn’t think less of him, that they might have been able to exchange pleasantries with each other. Perhaps even work themselves up to a quip or two, like Jensen was able to jest with his brother. Was that asking too much? Instead, there was only the blasted silence._

_Grumbling, he closed up Lizzie’s stall and went over to the work bench to find a suitable hoofpick. She had a rock lodged near the frog of her rear right hoof and he didn’t want it to damage that very sensitive part of her foot. When he turned back around, he nearly plowed into Jensen. “Sorry,” he mumbled and tried to move past him, but Jensen casually threw his arm up to lean against a post, effectively blocking Jared’s path. Jared idly noticed his sleeves were rolled up as well, revealing muscular forearms dusted in fine, blond hairs._

_“What’s got you so huffed?” he asked._

_“Nothing,” Jared murmured and tried again to slip around him. But Jensen turned and shifted his position so that Jared was trapped between his body and the rail where he had temporarily laid out Lizzie’s tack._

_“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he replied teasingly._

_Jared let out a hot breath that ruffled his sweaty fringe. “I thought…” and he paused. It was all perfectly simple in the end. He was frustrated because Jensen was his brother’s friend and not his. Saying the words in his head made him recognize how foolish and young he really was._

_“You thought…” Jensen repeated, encouraging him to continue, all the while subtly leaning closer._

_Jared saw that Jensen wasn’t about to let the matter drop, so he decided to explain and hoped he didn’t come off as completely daft. “It’s just that you and James…”_

_“Yes?” the older man prompted after Jared had fallen silent again._

_“The way you and James are,” he tried again, struggling with his thoughts, “so…familiar…with each other. I-I thought we might be as well.” And he stole a glance up into amused, emerald eyes._

_Crowding in close enough for Jared to get another whiff of that addictive smell that was purely Jensen, the other man’s lips curled slightly. “Let me understand you correctly, Jared. Would you like me to be,” and he paused here, grin practically sardonic, “more…familiar with you?”_

_Somehow they were so close, Jared could count the freckles – Jensen had freckles! – splashed across his nose and under his eyes. When he didn’t immediately answer, Jensen stepped in and Jared found himself up against the rail, hips flush against Lizzie’s saddle, still warm from the ride. That wasn’t the only heat he was feeling. Something sticky sweet was slowly spreading through his body, something he craved and feared in equal measures._

_“Would you, Jared?” Jensen questioned him, breath a gentle puff against his mouth, as he bore down on Jared._

_Jared leaned back, but because of the rail, the only means of escaping Jensen was to arch his back. All that change in position accomplished was to push Jared’s hips forward in an obscene manner. Jensen’s strong arms closed in, framing Jared’s, and he leaned into the youngest Padalecki without mercy._

_“I’d appreciate an answer, Jared,” the other man’s voice was low and gruff. The tone sent a thrill up and down Jared’s spine._

_“Yes,” Jared replied, idly wondering why the answer came out as nothing more than a breathy whisper._

_Jensen slowly traced the edge of Jared’s cravat with a single finger. “You did well enough today on the old girl.” He jerked his head in the direction of Mary’s stall. “Kept a good seat. But I have to wonder,” he continued on in a low purr, “what you would do with a stallion between your legs? Stallions are...unsafe and unpredictable.” And he insinuated himself between Jared’s thighs. “Is that familiar enough for you, Jared?”_

_Jared nodded and, without meaning to, rolled his lower lip into his mouth and bit down on it. Mesmerized like a bird before a snake, he saw Jensen drop his penetrating stare from his eyes down to his mouth and lick his own lips in response._

_“May I?” he rasped._

_Jared had no idea what Jensen meant. In fact, he was barely aware the man had asked him a question at all. It was hard to hear much over the thunder of his heartbeat and the roaring in his ears._

_“May I do that?_

_Jared might have nodded; he might have held stock still. He had no idea, but whatever he did or didn’t do was apparently all the permission Jensen needed. The blond closed that last inch between them and pressed his lips against Jared’s. Jared was thunderstruck, mind wheeling out of sync. For the first time in his life, someone who was not a family member was kissing him. He was at a loss as to what to do. Jensen, however, was not._

_Jared felt warm, firm, sucking pressure on his lower lip and he eventually released the death grip his teeth had on it. No sooner had he done so then Jensen seemed to inhale the tender flesh within his own mouth and ever so slightly tug on it, all the while pressing forward. Feeling off-balance in more ways than one, Jared let go of the rail and grasped frantically at the front of Jensen’s shirt. That seemed to be the signal the other man was waiting for. He wound his arms about Jared’s slender waist and practically crushed him to his chest. The action startled Jared and he gasped. Lips still slightly parted, he tasted the humid air caught between them and then Jensen was sliding his tongue into Jared’s mouth, licking tentatively as he did so._

_Jared hadn’t been aware that his eyes had closed until that moment, because they flew open again as Jensen tested and mapped out every part of his mouth. He didn’t know how to feel or how to assuage the trembling that had assaulted his body since it had come into contact with Jensen’s. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Trying to process the multitude of prickles he felt dancing along his skin like the sting of nettles, he took a single moment to appreciate the dark gold of Jensen’s eyelashes as they rested against his cheeks. And then Jensen did something decidedly wicked with his tongue against Jared’s and Jared’s eyes fluttered shut even as his hands worked their way over Jensen’s broad shoulders to meet at the nape of his neck._

_Just when he thought he might pass out for lack of air, Jensen raised his head slightly, tongue dragging from Jared’s lower lip to leave a wet trail along the curve of his jaw. Jared pushed himself up into Jensen’s chest when the other man traced the outer curve of his ear with that clever muscle._

_“Jensen,” Jared gasped. “Jensen.”_

_There was heat and want winding up from deep within his core. He didn’t know if Jensen was stoking those fires or if the older man could quench them. He wasn’t entirely certain he even cared which of the two Jensen did; he simply wanted Jensen to do more._

_As the other man’s plush mouth dragged slowly, inexorably down the taut line of Jared’s neck, a deep voice could be heard outside. Both Jared and Jensen froze in place._

_“When they are done in there,” George Padalecki’s rumbling orders were unmistakable, “I want you to go over that stallion with a fine-toothed comb. Lord knows what that sand monkey might have done to him or got on him.”_

_Jensen’s body grew rigid against Jared’s and he began to shift backwards and away, leaving the boy bereft of his warmth. Jared tried to keep him close._

_“I haven’t a clue what possessed James to give that camel jockey permission to ride Jacob, but…” Whatever else was said was too far away to hear._

_Jared wanted to relax as his father and, presumably, Elliot – the stable master – walked away, but the stricken look that flashed across Jensen’s face had him clutching at Jensen all the more. However, the other man seemed to compose himself and deftly plucked Jared’s hands off of his shoulders._

_“Jensen,” Jared began. “I-I am so terribly sorry for what he said…what he called you.”_

_Jensen stood up straight and tugged sharply at his shirt, smoothing out whatever wrinkles had formed during their…Jared didn’t even know what to name it. A moment? Tryst? Coupling?_

_Jensen was having none of it. Holding up a hand to forestall Jared from saying more, he coldly replied, “This is not something you can apologize for, Jared.”_

_“But they’re merely words, Jensen,” Jared hastened to add even as Jensen was pulling away. “Just words.”_

_Jensen regarded him coldly, his green eyes suddenly unfathomable as the sea._

Please don’t see my father when you look at me _, the lad thought desperately._

_“Words have power, Jared. Words can wound. And I have my pride.” With that, Jensen turned abruptly, collected his hat and coat and left the stable. Jared sagged back against the saddle, the creak of the leather doing little to mask the hitched sob that tumbled out._

“I’m so sorry,” Jared mumbled as he was moved once more, abruptly dragged out of his vivid dreams.

“It will be all right,” Assaf assured him. “Sleep. In the morning, I will be back.”

Jared barely noticed the change from one bed to the next. He was caught up in the half-shadows of his memories. Memories that still haunted him. All he was able to comprehend was he currently wasn’t in a place nearly as bright or as white as the last few rooms he’d been forced to endure. Sliding his hands over his chest, where twin aches throbbed in time with his heartbeat, he encountered silky material instead of skin. Cracking an eye open, he was mildly surprised to discover he was dressed in some kind of unconstructed shirt and loose pants. When had that happened?

“What –” he started to ask, weakly holding up the edge of his shirt, but Assaf cut him off.

“Time enough tomorrow for questions.”

Somewhere in the distance, a voice rose up in prayer.

“Salat al-'isha. The last prayer of the day. Now go to sleep,” the man urged Jared. He extinguished all but one of the candles before he left.

As Jared listened to the words, his thoughts drifted back to the first night he had spent in the desert. He remembered Kadeem singing to the camels and he worried who would sing to Basinah now that she was as lost as he was. And he thought of Jensen and who would sing to him.

Like that late afternoon in a stable so very far from here, he didn’t even notice he had started to cry.


	11. Chapter 11

 

The final prayer call had long since finished. Not even an echo remained to haunt the night. But Jensen found himself unable to sleep despite Matthew’s thorough ministrations. It wasn’t any bodily ache that plagued him, but one of the soul. The silk sheets tightened about his legs, strangling his calves, as he twisted from side to side. Kicking them loose as best he could, he struggled to get comfortable until he finally tossed the bedclothes aside and sat up. He knew he wouldn't be falling to sleep anytime soon with the thoughts that whirled about in his head. Not bothering dressing beyond slipping his sirwal back on, Jensen padded around his bedchamber, nearly desperate to burn off the coursing of restless energy that pulsed in his veins. Had the sun been up, he would have dressed and ridden his favorite steed, Shaitan, but it was much too late. And a moonlight ride wouldn't be worth the risk to the animal if he should turn a leg over such a useless caper – a child’s tantrum to escape. So he paced.

And paced.

And finally came to a rest beside the table where Jared’s things lay tossed about like the jetsam of his time in England with the boy of his dreams, their pull on him more powerful than iron to a lodestone.

 _“Boy of my nightmares” is more like it_ , he told himself, nudging the collection.

In the meager candlelight, the pen case winked at him, taunting him with memories he would as soon forget.

 

**_London, England, Christmas Eve 1851_ **

_“I wish it had snowed,” James grumbled as they made their way through the swarm of shoppers out and about gathering the last minute touches for their holiday feasts._

_Jensen shrugged noncommittally and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. It was cold enough as it was without the white stuff, he thought. Although he had seen snow – second-hand – brought over from the Persian mountains for his mother’s beloved sherbet, he supposed the real stuff would look more impressive than those burlap-wrapped lumps of melting ice he’d once viewed. He assumed he’d have more than ample chances to see it “au naturel” before he was done with England._

_“I blame Dickens,” his university roommate groused. “With his bloody_ Christmas Carol _, we’ve all come to expect skating on the Thames and frosty shopfronts as the normal when it almost never snows at Christmas time.”_

_Jensen chuckled. “Don’t let Jared hear you attack his beloved tale in such a manner.” Jensen tugged the front of his great coat tighter about him. The London clime was definitely cold enough for him._

_James shot him a shrewd glare. “You seem to come to his defense more and more often as of late. If I was the jealous sort, I’d be wounded that my little brother seems to write you more often than he does me since studies have resumed.”_

_“I wouldn’t say he’s written me more,” Jensen hedged, while fidgeting with his kidskin gloves, unwilling to meet the man’s gaze, mostly because what James suspected was true. Jared had been corresponding quite frequently with Jensen, more so than even James had come to realize, since Jensen had kept some of those missives hidden from the lad’s brother. Like nuggets of treasured gold, they’d begun to appear not long after courses had started back up in September, and Jensen had been immediately engaged. The boy’s spark of intelligence and curiosity had shown through like a beacon, lighting up Jensen’s dreary days. But his replies had grown stilted and stingy in return. Jared had warned in one dispatch early on that he thought perhaps some of Jensen’s letters had been lost, but Jensen didn’t believe that was the case. He suspected that George was more than likely censoring his youngest son’s mail and so he had tempered the frequency with which he answered and occasionally offered to post James’ letters so that he might slip a sheaf of his own papers inside them as well, unbeknownst to his friend. But he hadn’t wanted to tempt fate too often or get either Jared or James into trouble with his subterfuge._

_James simply hummed in response. “It was frightfully good of you to meet me at the station,” Jensen offered, aiming to distract his sharp friend. He was grateful that James seemed willing to oblige him the change in discourse._

_“No bother at all, seeing how Mother had me running every one of her errands today. I’m grateful we sent your things ahead, though. Slogging through the streets with your trunk would have been a right pain in the arse,” James joked._

_“What has she got you chasing after at such a late date?” he wondered._

_“Apparently, we simply have to have a batch of Mr. Tom Smith’s ‘Cosaques’ for tomorrow’s dinner or the world will end.”_

_“‘Cosaques’?” Jensen asked, scrunching up his face._

_“These silly containers that pop when you open them and are stuffed with candies and trinkets,” James shrugged off. “Seems anyone who is anyone,” and the younger man paused to place heavy emphasis on the second “anyone”, “has them at their table. Eh, what do I know? Gigglemug will probably adore them, knowing him.” Jensen cast James a side-eyed look and saw only warm affection for his little brother fostered there, despite the apparent disparagement._

_He probably would love them, Jensen mused. Jared was often enchanted by the most foolish of things or, mayhaps, Jensen had simply grown too jaded with life. Jared made for a good balance, reminding him of the joys in simpler pursuits. Not for the first time, Jensen worried about the gift he had selected for the youngest Padalecki._

_He hadn’t had enough time to get word home and have something suitable sent to him for the holidays. At first, it hadn’t even been much of a worry. But as September had bled into October and then November, Jensen came to the realization that he actually wanted to give Jared something meaningful for the upcoming holiday, given how James had gone on and on about the celebration. His roommate had helpfully mentioned many favored homemade gifts, but Jensen had no skills in that area. At least, none he had access to since it would be nigh on impossible to have a colt shipped over from his personal stables, although he kept that thought tucked away for later, perhaps as a birthday gift for when the lad turned seventeen. It had been pure chance that Jensen had stumbled upon something that he had been hard-pressed not to label as perfect in a curios shop last month. And he had had enough time to find an artisan skilled enough to personalize the top to his absolute exact specifications. All in all, he was rather chuffed with himself and couldn’t deny feeling some nervous anticipation regarding Jared’s reaction._

_They passed many grocers on their way to the confectioner. Jensen took a moment to peek into the various windows, amazed at the selection of eatables. The currants, tolerably cleaned and professionally moistened, occupied a noticeable place in the windows, along with the various sorts of raisins – Sultanas, Muscatels, and Valencias – in addition to the more familiar (to him) dates and preserves in pots, and candied lemons and spices. They were built up in the most attractive and gaudy piles and pyramids, edged round with boxes of foreign confections, adorned with admirable specimens of the lithographic art, and all ticketed in clean new figures at astonishingly low prices._

_Passing by a third-rate inn on a side street that James swore was a short cut, Jensen heard the raucous cries of men clearly caught up in gambling. Turning to James, he raised an eyebrow. “Gaming on Christmas Eve?”_

_James slowed for a moment to take a gander as well, before resuming his march. “Those would be the folk who belong to the goose club deciding who gets the best pick.” At Jensen’s bewildered stare, James continued on. “Sorry about that, old man,” he offered genuinely. “I forget sometimes that so much of this is so completely foreign to you.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he explained. “The holiday meal can be downright prohibitive in cost to the average, working man, so some of the inns and public houses start up a ‘goose club’ at the beginning of the month of October. A person can subscribe and pay a small amount each week to guarantee themselves a goose for their Christmas pot. If the subscriber ups his dole, he can also be assured a few bottles of spirits as well. When it comes time to collect, they roll the dice to decide who gets first dibs._

_“If you’d been here last week, what a sight you would have seen!” James continued. “Nearly a thousand geese were marched down the side streets and by-ways, to avoid the cabs and omnibuses, by their driver, using a ten foot wand to herd them all the way from Epping and Hainault Forests. They must have been a solid, fifty yards deep.”_

_“That would have been a sight,” Jensen agreed, avoiding the greasy mud, trodden and churned by myriads of feet to the consistence of bird-lime, “albeit a poor one indeed.”_

_“Why didn’t you come earlier?” his roommate asked him finally. “You know there was plenty of room for you.”_

_And Jensen did know that. During one of their late-night talks that had drifted from the relatively safe confines of sporting events and studies to religion and, finally, their own beliefs, Jensen had learned the Padalecki patriarch had turned his back on his Jewish heritage not long after Jared had been born. In all fairness, Jensen could at least understand, if not agree with, the reasoning behind it. The Jews were looked down upon by London society. From Shakespeare to Jared’s beloved Dickens, those of that faith were cast most often in the role of villain, from Shylock to Fagin. But simply renouncing their beliefs immediately placed them in the general public’s good graces. Their father’s decision, however, had meant the severing of ties to his extended family. So at a time when most people’s homes were filled to the brim with cousins and aunts and uncles, the Padaleckis were only hosting a few business associates who had had the ill-fortune of travelling away from hearth and home during the holiday season._

_And him._

_“I needed to discuss a few matters with my professors,” Jensen lied, “and it was simply easier to do once most of the students had already left.”_

_James didn’t push too much, knowing how Jensen occasionally had to deal with the prejudices of both classmates and teachers. “Still,” he muttered, “it would have been nice to have a friendly face around the place. Gigglemug was asking about you and I always feel bad at this time of year that there isn’t more family around.”_

_Nodding, Jensen kept up with his friend. “Is there anyone left?”_

_“None on my mother’s side. Well,” James corrected himself, “maybe a few distant cousins. And only my grandfather remains on my father’s side. I wish Jared would have had a chance to know him growing up.”_

_“Did you?” Jensen wasn’t sure if the questioning was too personal, but trusted that James would call an end to it if he crossed a line._

_“Yes, when I was little. My father made his decision to leave the faith not long after Jared was born and then that was the end of that.”_

_“Have you thought about resuming your relationship with him now that you’ve started to forge a life separate from your father?” James ducked his head and in that moment, Jensen saw how similar he could appear to his little brother. “You have, haven’t you?”_

_“I may have,” he grinned._

_Jensen bumped his shoulder against that of his friend. “Good for you.”_

_Before they could say much more, Mr. Smith’s shop came into view. Less crowded than the streets and noticeably warmer, the business smelt of sugary confections and it made Jensen’s stomach grumble. While James collected his mother’s order, Jensen perused the various sweets on display and berated himself for not eating something before having departed Oxford. Everything looked too delicious. Walking past a crowded display, a cluster of jewel-like candies caught his attention._

_“Mr. Smith copied those after the French style ones shown at the Great Exhibition this past summer,” an attentive clerk informed him once he’d noticed Jensen’s scrutiny. “They’ve got a lovely, cream center,” he added helpfully._

_Jensen shook his head and sighed. This Christmas was obviously a merchant’s dream come true, with all the impulsive purchasing that must go on. Even he had fallen under its spell, thinking Jared might like the sweets. “I will take two boxes of them and one box of those molded, chocolate bars. Could you wrap them for me as well?”_

_“Very good, sir,” the clerk chirped and scurried off to fill his request._

_“I see someone’s gotten into the spirit,” James quipped when Jensen met him again at the shop’s entrance, parcels secured under his arms._

_“Oh, hush,” he admonished in return._

_Back out on the streets, the two moved comfortably along as they took in the sights. Street musicians sang holiday tunes on some of the corners, while vendors hawked roasted chestnuts, filling the air with their smoky, sweet scent._

_James sighed as they passed one such vendor. “Why don’t you get yourself some?” Jensen asked._

_“Because my hands are full,” and he held up the package of Cosaques by way of explanation. “They may smell good, but they taste kind of mealy and bland.” He laughed at Jensen’s confused look. “But a bag in each pocket makes for wonderful hand warmers.”_

_Jensen snorted._

_They tried to catch a cab, with no luck. There were too many people and too few vehicles for hire, but the late afternoon was pleasant enough and neither minded the walk which eventually took them through Covent Gardens and the market there. As they neared, the sound of wheels was heard on all sides, and a continuous stream of carts and wagons poured into the open spaces. At the first glance, the whole burden of the endless wains appeared to be one mass of evergreens._

_“My word, it looks as though Birnam Wood has actually come to Dunsinane,” James breathed. Jensen chuckled at his friends reference to the “impossible” prophesy the witches had given Macbeth. But James wasn’t far wrong. The quantities of holly, fir and boughs of laurel were immense. It did sort of look like a forest had marched into the city._

_“Why is there so much for sale so late in the season?” Jensen asked James. “It’s Christmas tomorrow.”_

_Carefully weaving their way through the throng, both guarded their parcels from the crush of shoppers. James replied, “Not everyone decorates in advance. Some hold with the superstition that to place evergreens in the home before Christmas Eve can anger spirits with such visible displays of preparation for a festival. For those who abstain, it is now a mad dash to deck the halls.”_

_After a moment’s perusal of the greenery, James exclaimed, “Mistletoe! We should get a few boughs.”_

_Jensen shrugged his shoulders, but followed along amiably enough. He wasn’t sure of its significance but was confident James would explain sooner or later. Or Jared would._

_“G’day, sir. Looking for some mistletoe? I’ve got several fine boughs here, with plenty of berries,” a seller informed them with a knowing wink._

_James chose a selection tied up almost like a ball, with a single large, red ribbon sprouting from the top. “This one, I think,” he informed the man._

_“That one there is a bargain at half a guinea, sir, to say nothing of the kissing, which I don't presume to put a value on.” Noticing Jensen’s bemused expression, the seller added, “When you catch someone under it, for every berry you give them, they have to repay you with a kiss. And this one has a prodigious amount of fruit.”_

_Leaving the hustle and bustle of the market, Jensen said little about James’ purchase. As far as he knew, there was no one who was staying with the Padaleckis that James might have fancied. So he had to wonder why the younger man thought a “kissing ball” was something the household needed. He was so very certain that he and Jared had been discreet, that no one suspected their relationship was growing, changing. Even he had been ambushed by the evolving nature of it all, so there was no way James could know._

_Could he?_

_And if he did, Jensen mused, he must have been satisfied by it if he had gone to the trouble of purchasing something that might even facilitate romantic overtures between him and his brother. That had to be it. That was the secret message James was trying to convey._

_Swinging the mistletoe with one hand by its ribbon in the same manner as a lady might her reticule and juggling the box of Cosaques in his other, James said, “It will be nice to get rid of the old one.”_

_“Hmm?” Jensen murmured, still lost in this convoluted rationalizations._

_“The mistletoe,” he replied, practically dangling the green branches in his face. “You have to keep the old one until you have a fresh one to replace it with. I’m not one who fancies dried, dead things about the household.”_

_Oh. That was it then. His secret was safe, it seemed._

_“I would have never guessed, considering the work you do,” Jensen responded, quick on his feet like a swordsman with a ready parry._

_“Those cadavers are mostly still fresh and I’d never keep them around the house,” James retorted, almost as fast as Jensen. Both chuckled at his dark humor. But Jensen couldn’t be sure of the lingering look James afforded him with. Food for thought._

_Soon enough, they arrived at the Padaleckis’ fashionable townhouse. The Thames was within sight and Jensen appreciated both the view and the West End neighborhood. The home, while not quite as ostentatious as the others nearby, still reeked of money and affluence, exactly the picture he was sure George Padalecki wanted to project for all to see. But a small part of him pointed out that, as much as he wanted to detest the older man for what he stood for, Padalecki shared more than a few traits with his own sire. Perhaps it was because of that that he mostly held the Padalecki patriarch in such contempt. He couldn’t hate his father, so he had transferred those feelings to this man. Oh, there was no doubting the attitude and manner with which he often spoke to Jensen deserved derision and censure, but perhaps not to the degree that Jensen felt. Something to mull over, at any rate, although his opinion was probably something that wouldn’t change any time soon, if ever._

_They had barely knocked when the family’s butler, Alan, swung the front doors open to greet them._

_“Master James,” he smiled and immediately moved to take the bundles from the young man’s hands, passing them off to a chambermaid. He turned to Jensen, but Jensen shook his head in the negative, choosing to retain possession of his purchases although he did hand off his coat, gloves and scarf to another young lady. She curtsied and tried to hide the blush that colored her cheeks when he’d smiled at her._

_“Your things arrived a short while ago,” Alan addressed Jensen, “and young Fredrick has been appointed to valet for you. Assuming he hasn’t set the room afire, your things should be put away and a fresh change of clothes laid out for this evening.”_

_“My thanks, Alan. I’m sure Fredrick and I will muddle along just fine together,” Jensen smiled. The butler muttered something under his breath about “clumsy” and “untrained”, but Jensen paid him no mind. If George had selected the boy, Jensen was sure he’d been saddled with a disaster of a valet, probably to make him look unkempt and what not. Well, it certainly was no fault of the lad’s and Jensen was not planning to take it out of his hide. He meant what he’d said; the two would manage somehow._

_As much as Jensen wanted to go up and change, wash away the grime of travel and the city (and definitely not try to sneak in a visit with Jared), he knew it would reflect poorly on him if he didn’t greet his hosts. So he dutifully followed James through the lavishly decorated foyer, practically dripping in holly and evergreen boughs, into the sitting room. There, amidst the holiday splendor, sat Mrs. Padalecki._

_Impeccably groomed as always, not a single brown curl out of place, she rested on a settee, diligently working away at a piece of needlepoint. James rushed over and bestowed a kiss on her forehead. “James,” she said. “Did you – ”_

_He patted her hand. “Yes, Mother. I picked up your box of crackers and a lovely new ball of mistletoe to replace that skeletal thing in the other parlor,” he told her. “And I picked up this disreputable looking fellow while I was out, too.”_

_Jensen walked over and kissed her proffered hand. “Lovely as always, Mrs. Padalecki,” he tendered, easier to be gallant when her husband wasn’t looming near. “And let me express my gratitude for your kind invitation to pass the holidays with your family.” At the last part, his eyes skimmed the rooms beyond, disappointed at not catching sight of anyone else. “Please accept this as a token of my appreciation,” he told her as he handed her one of the boxes of hard candies._

_“That wasn’t necessary. I’m so very pleased you could join us, Jensen,” she replied, carefully returning her needlepoint to her basket so that she could accept the ribbon trimmed package. Jensen thought she appeared genuinely delighted by the small gift, judging by the way her lips curled up. Without the shadow of her husband, Elizabeth Padalecki could be charming enough during casual discourse. Jensen supposed it was partly because he was rather pleasant to look at and his paler complexion didn’t instantly call to mind his foreign birthright and partly because she was a lady of breeding and manners. He often wondered what she might be like if married to someone else. He also wondered if she even had a choice when marrying and then scuttled those thoughts as being traitorously close to home._

_“Where’s Father?” James interrupted. “And Jared?”_

_“Your father is in his study with those men from Aberdeen. It looks as though they will be here for some time, given how terrible the storms are up north, so they are plotting what other transactions they can close while trapped here.” She delicately pushed a curl aside and Jensen wondered if she was perturbed by all the unwanted house guests. “As for Jared, he was puttering about earlier, but retreated back to his room some hours ago, going on and on about how something wasn’t quite right.” She sighed. “Probably fretting about some gift or another. I don’t know why he's worked himself up into such a pique this season, but he has.”_

_“I'm sure it’s nothing,” James assured her. “I’m certain I was a bit anxious at his age as well, wasn’t I?”_

_Her gaze softened on James. “You were a little hellion at times, James, but you are both such good boys…” she sighed, seeming to cut herself off from saying more. Jensen surmised it was probably his presence that caused her to censor herself. “At any rate, the evening meal should be ready soon, but there is enough time for you both to freshen up, I think.”_

_James chuckled and kissed her forehead again. “Which is her polite way of saying we’re both two filthy muckrakes,” he laughed._

_“James,” she breathed, acting affronted, “I would never.”_

_“It is true, Madam, that I, at least, am not fit for polite company at the table. A quick trip to my room should correct that,” Jensen told her. “Although I don't believe there is any hope for dear James no matter how much time he’s given.”_

_James swatted at Jensen playfully and even Mrs. Padalecki hid a small grin behind a dainty hand as the two men excused themselves from her company._

_Once safely within his room, Jensen placed his remaining parcels on the bureau and surveyed the “damage” wrought by his inexperienced valet. His clothes were put away correctly for the most part, albeit in somewhat of a haphazard manner. But his dinner clothes were hanging out and a bowl full of steaming water and his razor had been prepared so he could get in a quick shave. Jensen decided not to chance having Fredrick do it and opted instead to take care of it himself._

_As he slipped out of his waistcoat, cravat and shirt to lather his face, he pondered over what Jared might have been fussing about. Hopefully, he wasn’t too disappointed that Jensen hadn't come sooner. He himself had been torn, but as much as he wanted to spend time with the lad, he had to temper those desires with the reality of their current living situation. While Jared was under George’s roof, things would always be tense. Once Jared was…what exactly? Older? Jared would never be free of his father if things remained as they were. And Jensen feared that Jared might never be bold enough to take the first step away. So Jensen would have to do it. He could ask –_

_“Bloody hell,” he hissed, as he dropped his razor and dabbed at the nick blossoming bright red under his chin. Twisting his face to get a better look in the small, oval mirror above the washstand, he saw it wasn’t too bad and would probably stop bleeding in short order. He angrily wiped away the rest of the shaving soap and tossed the slightly bloody rag into the bowl of water. What in the world had he been contemplating? That Padalecki boy twisted him up inside so much he forgot to pay attention to the here and now. That had never happened before._

_Trying not to think too much on it, he dressed carefully in his black suit, deciding to add a festive touch with a maroon cravat. And in case his chin did still bleed, the color would provide cover for him. He inspected his trunk and found his Christmas gifts still nestled in the bottom. The valet had left them untouched, which he appreciated. The largest box was ostensibly for the family, but in reality was for Elizabeth alone. It was an ornate, crystal gewgaw he had picked up last week that he was certain would meet with her approval. The next one down in size was William Harvey’s_ De Motu Cordis _, for James. He’d found a copy of the two hundred-year-old medical book in good condition after a month's search. The last package was for Jared. If his fingers lingered over the wrapping on that one longer than the others, it didn’t have to mean anything, he told himself. Only he knew it did. It meant a great deal._

_As did Jared._

_Collecting his gifts, Jensen exited the bedroom, glad to be free of its confining, low ceilings. He didn’t understand why the English boxed themselves in so. As he descended the grand staircase, his nose was assailed by the sharp, green tang of the decorations that he’d missed when he’d first entered the house. He had to admit, it was a refreshing and bracing smell. From his higher vantage point, he watched as a small contingent of servants bustled about between the various rooms. Once again, he was reminded of his father’s home and how the servants there could blend into the background at times, too, but always appeared busy, always a silent presence._

_The under-butler met Jensen at the base of the stairs and escorted him to the dining room. He nodded to the man as he entered. The table before him was resplendent. Fine bone china plates were set out on the gleaming wood, along with what Jensen was sure was the family’s finest silver. The gas lights mounted on the walls had been dimmed so that the various candelabra provided the majority of the lighting, making everything warmer and muted. An array of chafing dishes was lined up on the sideboard and the aroma of roasted beef hung heavy in the air. Glancing about, it appeared that he was the first to arrive. Jensen stood somewhat uncertainly, not knowing where to place the gifts he was carrying._

_A footman recognized his distress and wordlessly opened another set of doors for him. Stepping around the polished table and giving the man a grateful smile, he entered a smaller parlor and his eyes widened in astonishment. In the far corner, nestled between the fireplace and a small piano was an evergreen tree slightly taller than he was. Almost at the end of nearly every second branch burned a small candle. The tree itself was festooned in ribbons and garlands and ropes of cranberries mixed with popcorn. Tiny packages were tucked into the branches like birds’ nests, as well as cornucopias filled with sweets. Jensen had to admit it was a lovely sight._

_“Ever since that drawing appeared in_ _The Illustrated London News_ _two years ago with Prince Albert and Queen Victoria around a tree in Windsor, everyone has to have one. Place those anywhere under the tree you can find room,” James said as he sidled up beside him. Jensen turned and saw his friend was similarly dressed as he was, but had chosen a green cravat to add a bit of color to his dark ensemble._

_Smirking, Jensen said, “I guess you do clean up tolerably well.”_

_“There better be a decent gift in that pile for me, considering what an onerous task it is to be your friend,” he sniffed, before breaking out into a bright smile._

_“There might be something here for you,” Jensen admitted as he placed the presents in various open spots under the tree, mindful of the burning lights. “A sack of coal, perhaps.”_

_As he straightened up, Jensen heard the murmur of other guests entering the dining room. He tugged at his coat and girded himself for the evening’s activities, determined to smile and grit his teeth if necessary at any sullying remark that might land his way. He was not prepared for the sight of Jared practically bursting into the room, nearly breathless. Seeing him after nearly three months left him feeling much the same._

_The lad was dressed in somber attire, like the rest of the household. In fact, Jensen recognized it as the same black suit he’d worn for the last soirée of summer where they had danced together. Jensen would never forget that night or the way Jared had looked. But, unlike either he or James, Jared wore an almost gaudily colored waistcoat, with swirls of red and green throughout. His hair was as untamed as ever and Jensen's fingers itched to rake through it. As soon as the lad saw them both, he thrust whatever it was that he held in his hands behind his back and shuffled awkwardly past them, edging toward the tree._

_“Uhm, hello there,” he breathed shyly, glancing between Jensen and his brother, keeping his eyes lowered_

_“Hello there,” Jensen replied with a subtle bow of his head._

_James was not one to let things go. “What have you got there, Gigglemug?”_

_Jared scrunched up his face in frustration, cheeks stained a wild rose. “Nothing, Mr. Nosey Parker. Why don’t you both go sit down?”_

_James guffawed. “What did you just call me?”_

_“You’re like one of those peeping Tom types at the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park this summer,” he sputtered, “trying to spy on things you have no business doing.”_

_But Jensen took pity on the lad, who was clearly trying to hide something, more than likely from his big brother._

_“Come on, James,” he said as he clapped the other man on his shoulder, “and leave him to his mischief. I’m so famished I could eat you.” As he herded the laughing man out, he gave Jared a quick glance over his shoulder, but the boy was already on his hands and knees, rooting around under the tree. The sight of his backside as it wiggled from side to side was almost too much and he had to discreetly adjust his trousers. Thoughts of that nature simply wouldn’t do at a family gathering._

_Once everyone had arrived for the late dinner, the meal itself ran rather smoothly. Whether it was for the benefit of his business guests or, less likely, the Christmas spirit, George refrained from too many barbed comments at Jensen’s expense. After all, the man could hardly mock Jensen for partaking in holiday traditions when they were as foreign to him as they were Jensen. And Jensen had offered his own silent concessions, by forgoing any traditional clothing on his part. Their unspoken truce survived the lavish meal with nary a shot fired. Jensen’s only disappointment had been the seating arrangements. Installed too far from Jared to carry on a proper conversation, he could do little more than send him a glance or two throughout the evening; Jensen discreetly watched him nonetheless. Jared mostly picked at his meal, pushing the beef and potatoes around in strange patterns. At one point, Jensen overheard Elizabeth ask him if he was feeling well. She tutted and clucked over him, despite his best attempts to convince her it was a touch of nerves and nothing more. Jensen was once again reminded that Jared had been severely ill four years prior and suspected that event colored his mother’s concerns._

_When the last of the dishes had been cleared, there was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. From what James had told Jensen, tradition dictated that the family should open up gifts after supping, but the other visitors’ presence muddled matters. Elizabeth, the consummate hostess, rose to the occasion._

_“I suppose you men can’t wait to escape to your cheroots and port,” she began, offering them a polite escape. “I shall do my best to entertain the boys in the parlor while you retire to the smoking room.”_

_George nodded. “I think we shall do just that.”_

_“Don’t you want to open your gifts, Father?” Jared asked quietly._

_“Tomorrow will be fine, Jared.” But something in the dour man’s face relaxed a touch. “You go ahead and try to save me some punch.”_

_Jared smiled and lowered his head, hiding behind his fringe. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the boy do that when embarrassed or pleased and suspected it wouldn’t be the last time, either._

_As the other men disappeared into the inner sanctum of the smoking room, Jensen and the rest moved into the smaller parlor. Elizabeth reclined on a settee by the fireplace, while James and Jensen took up a position on the couch. Jared made do with an oversized footstool. Alan brought round a tray of glasses and everyone helped themselves to the hot brandy and rum punch. Even Jared was allowed some after he graced his mother with a series of endearing looks that left her no choice but to relent._

_“Jared, why don’t you hand out the gifts?” she told him once they’d all settled._

_He scooted down to the floor and began rifling through the various wrapped boxes before dividing them up and giving each person their take. The men deferred to Elizabeth to start the proceedings._

_She made appropriate “oh” and “ah” exclamations with each gift she received, from Jensen’s crystal thingamajig to the richly hued needlepoint threads Jared had gotten her. She thanked each profusely and urged them to open their own gifts._

_James went next. He opened the small envelope from his mother, kissed her several times and tucked it inside his coat without another word. Jensen surmised it had probably been monetary in nature and as James had many expenses to deal with at University; it was a truly generous gift considering the tenuous relationship that existed between them over his choice of studies. When he ripped off the wrapping of Jensen’s gift, his eyes lit up._

_“Harvey’s treatise on the circulatory system? Jensen, this is wonderful!” and the man gave Jensen a smacking kiss on the cheek. Flushing under the exuberance of the reaction, Jensen snuck a glance at Jared. The younger man’s face was open and genuinely happy that his brother had received such a meaningful present._

_When he opened his gift from Jared, he was speechless. Inside the rather large box was a leather case that any man would be proud to carry. “Oh, Jared…” and he rubbed his hands along the hide reverently._

_“I thought, since I know what a fine doctor you’re going to make soon, you should have a bag to match,” Jared said quietly._

_“How did you do this?” James whispered, moved to near tears._

_“You’re not supposed to question Father Christmas,” he replied sagely. Jensen saw that James wanted to pursue the topic but let it pass for the time being._

_“You next, Gigglemug,” James urged._

_Jared carefully unwrapped the gift from his parents, smiling dutifully at the superfine suit he discovered within the oblong box._

_“Thank you, Mother,” he told her and she smiled back at him._

_James’ crazily wrapped gift – Jensen thought he recognized the front page of The Illustrated London News – was next. “I should probably save the paper,” he quipped. “It’s so exotic and unusual.” That earned him a swat on his head._

_“James,” Elizabeth scolded, but she sounded insincere in her vexation._

_“Oh, this is wonderful,” Jared exclaimed, holding up a magazine. From where he was sitting, Jensen saw it was a copy of_ _ Sartain's Union Magazine _ _from the previous year. “It has Poe’s ‘Annabel Lee’ in it. It was the last poem he completed before he died,” he explained to the room. Elizabeth nodded, but chewed on her lower lip as though troubled. She probably disapproved of the morbid nature of Poe’s writing, Jensen surmised. Jared crawled over to James and gave him a hug. “Thank you,” Jensen heard him whisper._

_The final gifts Jared had left were from Jensen. He grinned at the boxes of sweets, but when he got to the last box, Jensen found himself wiping his suddenly damp palms against his thighs. Jared oh so carefully removed and folded the paper, placing it aside, before opening the lid. His eyes grew wide at what he found within._

_“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, reverently holding the gold and steel pen case Jensen had found for him. With graceful fingers, Jared traced the design on the lid, probably not knowing it was Arabic lettering. That was all right. Jensen knew it was a trifle cowardly, placing the declaration in such a way as to never be recognized, much like whispering words into the ear of a person when they were sleeping. But that was as brave as he was willing to be at the moment. It would have to be enough for now._

_“I can store all my pens and pencils in it,” he marveled, “and take them wherever I go.”_

_Jensen smiled. “Wherever you go,” he echoed._

_Jared sat on the floor, stroking the case as he studied it. “Thank you,” he breathed, raising his eyes to Jensen’s. Once more, he was hypnotized by their strange and undefinable colors._

_“I’m so sorry, old man,” James interrupted, breaking the solemn moment, “but there’s not much for you.” He jerked his head at the small pile of candies that Jared had collected from the tree and set by Jensen. Even Elizabeth was slightly distressed._

_Turning to face her, Jensen elaborated. “James already presented me with my gift before we broke for the holidays. It was easier to leave it at school.”_

_“Easier to drink it at school,” Jared muttered under his breath, placing the case carefully back in the box._

_Jensen cocked an eyebrow at him, but continued on. “And you opening up your home to me during this season is more generosity than I could have ever expected.”_

_That declaration mollified her, but Jared twisted his fingers. In fact, he was practically wringing his hands. As Jensen was about to ask him what was wrong, he spoke softly._

_“I have something for you.”_

_Twisting around, he rummaged under the tree and pulled out a small tube, tied up with lace ribbon._

_“Here,” he said, rolling his lower lip into his mouth as he thrust the thing into Jensen’s hands. “I-I hope you like it.”_

_“Thank you,” Jensen replied, startled by the boy’s abrupt manners. Turning it in his hands, he realized it was a piece of thick paper rolled up tight. Tugging the ribbon free, he carefully unfurled it and was dumbfounded by what was revealed._

_There, on a space no more than twelve inches by ten, was a charcoal sketch. In exacting detail, Jared had rendered a stunning likeness of Jensen. But he hadn’t drawn him in the suits he normally wore around town; instead, Jared had chosen to clothe him in fantastical versions of what he would normally have worn at home – large, elaborate headdress, silky shirts and robes. And the pose he choose…Jensen, with eyes downcast and head to the side, as though weighted down by the responsibilities of his station, but regal all the same._

_“Is this…” Jensen croaked, unable to finish._

_“It’s how I see you,” Jared answered simply._

_And the boy did see him. Perhaps he was the first one to ever do so. “Jared…”_

_“That’s really quite something,” James remarked, peering around Jensen’s shoulder for a better look. “Mother, come see.”_

_As Mrs. Padalecki rose to take a gander, Jensen couldn't tear his gaze away from Jared. And Jared was just as riveted. It was as if the rest of the world had faded away in that instant and they were the only two humans in it._

_“Quite something,” Elizabeth agreed in a distracted voice. “Quite something.”_

_“Quite something indeed,” Jensen repeated, but he only had eyes for Jared as he said the words. “It’s beautiful.”_

_“It’s you,” Jared said._

_The four were silent for several, long minutes. Finally, Alan broke the unnamed tension when he returned with another round of punch._

_“I think I have had enough for tonight,” Elizabeth demurred. “Jared, would please place my presents under the tree? I would like to show them to your father tomorrow after Mass.”_

_“Of course, Mother.” Jared agreed, collecting the items from the settee to arrange them on the mat, which was under the tree to catch any wax that might drip down. Jensen noted he was very careful where he placed them._

_James slipped his circulatory book inside his case. “I will be taking mine to my room, I think.”_

_“I know someone who is going to be reading all night,” Jared quipped._

_“James,” Elizabeth pleaded, “we’ve Christmas Mass in the morning and I do hope you’ll be presentable. Great circles under your eyes simply won't do."_

_“I wouldn't dream of being anything less,” he assured her. “Come,” he offered her his free arm, “let me take you up to your rooms.”_

_“Are you coming, Jared?” she asked._

_“I'll be along directly,” he promised. “Good night, Mother, and thank you again.”_

_She seemed slightly troubled but smiled at both him and Jensen. Jensen noted that James carried his doctor’s bag proudly as he escorted his mother out. He could easily envision the physician he would become. And what a fine one he would be. Of that, Jensen had no doubt._

_Jensen and Jared sat in relative silence while the butler cleared away the glasses and tended to the fire. “Will that be all, Master Jared?”_

_Jared smiled. “Thank you, Alan. And Merry Christmas.”_

_“And to you, Jared.” on his way out of the parlor, he turned to Jensen. “And to you as well, sir.” Jensen nodded once._

_“He’s not going to put out the fire?” Jensen asked, simply to have something to say. He was still too moved by the drawing to do much else._

_Jared shrugged as he stood up. Moving over to the tree, he started to extinguish the candles very carefully. “Tradition. The log will burn all night as well as a few candles in the windows. It’s for luck.” He cupped his hand behind a flame and blew gently. Jensen got up and joined him, working methodically around the tree until both men were standing side by side. In the firelight, Jared’s face, half in shadows, was strange and exotic._

_“Jared, I – ”_

_“Jensen,” Jared began at the same time._

_They both laughed softly. Jensen glanced about and, seeing no one, clasped Jared’s hand and pulled him toward the couch. Motioning to the drawing, he swallowed visibly. “I don’t have the words, Jared.”_

_Jared dipped his head down and mumbled, “I was so worried you’d think I was mocking you. But I know that that,” and he pointed to the drawing, “is as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. You can’t change who you are and I wouldn’t want you to,” he finished breathlessly._

_“How do you do it?” Jensen wondered. “How do you see such things?”_

_Jared lifted and then dropped his shoulders, but wouldn’t meet his eye. That wouldn’t do. Tipping Jared’s chin up gently, Jensen reassured him. “I’m not sure how to say this without sounding like a braggart, but the work itself is truly beautiful. You’ve got a talent, Jared.”_

_Jared tried to lower his head, but Jensen was having none of it. The boy’s face flushed becomingly in the golden, half-light. “Your gift to me is exquisite. If I know you, you know me just as well.”_

_Jensen smiled lopsidedly. “I might have had an idea how much writing and drawing mean to you,” he admitted in a self-deprecating manner. “But don’t distract me,” he said as he brushed a finger lightly across the tip of Jared’s nose. “You’ve shown real skill and I hope you pursue it, despite what your father might want for you.”_

_At the mention of George, Jared straightened up and looked about guiltily. He extricated himself from Jensen’s presence and went to the still-open doors by the dining room. He peered about the other room worriedly. Jensen stepped over to stand near him._

_When the lad appeared to satisfy himself that they were truly alone, he whispered, “I sold a story that I wrote and illustrated myself.”_

_Jensen’s smile grew wide. “What?”_

_Twisting his head as if to make certain once again there was absolutely no one about, Jared grinned up at Jensen. “I wrote a short story. Well, it was more like a fairytale. You know…something you might read to a child.” As the words spilled out, Jared grew more and more animated. “And I did some drawings to go along with it, in case my words didn’t do justice to what I was trying to convey. One of my tutors, Mr. Wilcox, told me he thought it had a great deal of merit and offered to speak to a friend of his who works in publishing stories and manuscripts.” Jared knocked aside a strand of hair that had fallen in his eyes._

_“And?” Jensen urged, enchanted with how giddy Jared was becoming._

_“He offered to publish it.” Lowering his voice again, Jared’s eyes skittered about. Reassured there was no one near, he continued, “But both Mr. Wilcox and I knew my father would never approve, so Mr. Wilcox acted as my agent and I chose a nom de plume to publish under. It was all very clandestine, Jensen, but so very thrilling. And I was paid for it, too!”_

_Jensen shook his head and chuckled at the last part. Jared was so excited by it all, he probably would have been equally as happy if he hadn’t made a brass farthing on the endeavor. And then it dawned on him. “That’s how you got James his gift, didn’t you?”_

_Tongue peeking out between his petal pink lips, Jared bobbed his head up and down vigorously, before his smile grew a little dim. “I know I should have put aside some for a better gift for you, but – ”_

_“Don’t be daft,” Jensen scolded him, before taking both of the boy’s hands in his. “It is plainly obvious I got the most precious gift of all.”_

_Jared, as expected, ducked he head again. Jensen gently tugged him closer and the two stood practically nose to nose in the doorway. When Jared finally looked back up, he studied Jensen thoughtfully before letting his gaze travel upwards. Jensen followed suit and saw they were under James’ ball of mistletoe. Pulling one hand free, Jensen reached up and plucked a berry from a branch. He presented it to Jared, who accepted the white fruit gingerly._

_“This can be lethal, you know,” he murmured softly._

_“So can a kiss,” Jensen rasped and surged in._

_He nibbled and sucked on Jared’s lips until Jared opened up for him. Licking inside, he tasted the lingering flavor of the liquor punch and, underneath that, the familiar sweetness of Jared himself. Jared sighed and melted into him as Jensen plundered the warm cavern of his mouth. At the first, tentative touch of Jared’s tongue to Jensen’s, the older man was lost. Wrapping one hand around Jared’s waist, he threaded the fingers of the other through the boy’s silky tresses. He wanted to devour him whole, carry Jared within him always._

_Finally, they broke apart, both gasping as though they’d been running wild. Jensen tilted his head to one side and dragged his thumb across Jared’s lower lip. The flesh was swollen red and wet from their kisses and Jensen felt the primal urge to take everything that was offered. “That was one,” he panted, reaching up to pull down another berry._

 

Jensen snatched up the tiny bundle of things and stormed angrily over to his desk. The old, wooden thing was dented and scratched, but it was also the only piece in the room that was Jensen’s and not a relic of his father’s. He ripped open the bottom drawer and dumped Jared’s belongings inside, barely giving the partially rolled paper tucked in the back a second’s glance as he slammed it shut again.

And why should he? That wasn’t him, after all. That was a dream he had finally woken up from.

Shooting a quick glance towards the drape covered terrace, Jensen noticed the faintest tinges of light along the edges of the material hanging there. He would change into his riding gear and take Shaitan out into the wasteland and ride and ride and ride.

He would ride until his lungs ached and his heart didn't, until everything within was burned clean.

He would ride until he was free.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify the added tag above, this chapter includes a very brief discussion of historically accurate castration.

_ _

 

Each lid must certainly have had a large stone resting on it as Jared struggled to open his eyes. And crust clumped sections of his lashes together. Whatever he had had to drink the previous night must have been powerful indeed, if the stale taste in his mouth and the cotton wool between his ears were any indications. Perhaps next time, he’d heed Timothy’s advice and not imbibe so freely at supper; he didn’t have the constitution or the experience for it. With a wobbly effort, he raised an arm to clear the dried sleep from his eyes when his forearm inadvertently brushed against his nipple and a searing pain shot through his chest. He sat up abruptly, head swirling, and looked down at himself aghast. In the pale, sickly half-light, twin golden rings protruding from his nipples gleamed dully. Where they disappeared into his flesh – into his flesh! – small blots of dried maroon had pooled and crackled. For several long moments, Jared merely blinked and blinked at them, but they never disappeared. Like a foggy dawn, awareness and recollections began to seep in.

Propped up on one elbow, Jared ran his hand gingerly around one nipple, avoiding the piece of jewelry like the plague, before letting that same hand slide down his stomach and slip into the baggy, plain pants someone had dressed him in to confirm a vague but familiar humiliation. His fingers brushed up against rings of cool metal and he remembered his privates had actually been locked up. He was also aware that where his hand shamefully brushed should have been met by crinkly hair, but there was nothing save smooth skin in its absence. Muffled thudding began to pick up its tempo behind his eyes and his stomach churned. What had happened?

Collapsing back onto the pillows behind him, he tried to navigate the murky waters of his memories. He yanked his hand free of his pants as disgraceful flashes of other hands – hands not his own – touched, stroked and fondled him where no one had before. And he had let it happen to him. Worse yet, he had pressed his lips against another’s not out of love or affection, but to gain access to what had obviously been opiates to ease his pain and dishonor. Better he had borne the shame and degradation like a man than accept narcotics as a means of escape. What kind of a lily-livered coward was he? His father would have a right laugh at how weak his youngest was, just as he had always accused Jared of being.

As he lay on the unknown bed, fingers clutching and releasing the soft sheets beneath him, Jared continued to berate himself. Wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to rectify matters, however. He would have to help himself as best he could, though he found it hard to work up too much righteous indignation over his predicament beyond that first burst of mortification. Another roll of his stomach reminded him of the previous night’s activities. Tentatively placing a hand on his abdomen, Jared traced a long crack that branched along the ceiling with eyes slowly un-focusing. He didn’t know how long he followed the winding path it made. A minute? An hour? Perhaps there were some lingering effects of the drug still within his mind and body that gave him the air of detachment that was growing. He would have to persevere through it, he berated himself. There was no other recourse.

Glancing sluggishly around, Jared took stock of his surroundings. Wherever he was, the room was small, almost as small as his cabin aboard the _Northfleet_. The walls, unlike the fantastical things he had passed through last night (was it only last night?), were rather unremarkable. Tiles covered the lower sections, with patterns and colors reminiscent of Delftware, that gave way to plain plaster, somewhat faded with age, and the only window he could spy was a rather large one to the right of the sole door he saw. But the window had a carved screen in place of glass that allowed anyone outside the ability to look in as easily as it allowed Jared to look out. The sense of privacy was only an illusion. From the meager amount of light trickling in, Jared guessed his view didn’t face outward, but in towards some kind of hallway. However, the illumination had the distinctive quality of daylight, however diffuse it was.

Flopping back, Jared tried to calculate how much time had passed. It might be the day after his capture, or it might be several. He had no current way to distinguish how much time had slipped away while he had been insensate. With that knowledge, a sudden rush of dread filled him up, which he did his best to quash. It served no purpose, he scolded himself harshly.

 _Let’s assume it was the next morning_ , he reasoned. _I have to start somewhere_.

Operating under that auspice, he had then been gone a full day. Without knowing how long it would take Ibrahim and his family to return to Doheh, he could only deduce that Timothy and his ship would remain for another two or three days at most. Jared wasn’t so full of himself to believe the man would or could remain longer. He had a ship full of people, some that were ill or otherwise incapacitated, who he needed to ferry back to England in timely fashion. His dire warnings of returning promptly hadn’t been affectations; the man had a schedule to keep. As Chaucer once wrote, “the time will fly; it will pause for no man” and he knew it to be true. Jared supposed, given that his father was one of the E.I.C directors, the captain might wait another day or so. That, in turn, might be enough time for Ibrahim to reach him and let him know what had transpired. Timothy could perhaps spare a small detachment of men to look for Jared, but without knowing exactly where he was, Jared was as good as lost. No, more than likely, Timothy would send word home along the same route Jared had planned to use in his return to England – across the desert, then via steamship from Alexandria to London. James and his parents would learn of his disappearance in two months, God willing.

Two months.

And even if his father organized a search party for him, it would be another two months at the earliest before anyone would set foot on these distant shores. That meant four months at the very least before anyone would come looking for Jared. If they did, that was. There was no guarantee, after all, that his father would even bother. James would worry, but who knew when someone would inform his brother of his disappearance and even then, there was no way James possessed the means to financially mount a rescue.

Four months.

Jared slung his arm across his eyes, whimpering at the brief, but searing, pain the tugging motion caused across his chest, and tried very hard not to be overcome with sorrow. The apathy he had felt upon first waking seemed to be receding as the darker emotions welled up inside, threatening to drown him. He was truly on his own. What a grand adventure, he mocked, that he had stumbled upon. What a grand farce, was more like the truth. Tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, which he squeezed tightly shut, as if that would prevent the tears’ traitorous escape. His body, however, was bent on betraying him yet again.

For a few minutes, Jared allowed himself the weakness of weeping. But only a few. Eventually, he swiped at his face angrily. He was on his own and it was up to him to find a way to freedom. Sucking in a wet breath, he began to form lists within his head of what was a priority and what was a necessity in his bid for freedom. In doing so, he started to gain some control back over his wayward emotions. Glancing at his attire, or lack thereof, he knew he would have to procure substantial covering if he was to flee, not only for the anonymity it would provide, but for protection against both the cool night air and the sun. Even in his darkened room, sweat began to trickle from his temples to join the tears puddled uselessly in his ears. Food was moved from necessity to priority. Jared would manage without it, but the same could not be said for water. He would also need a means with which to carry it with him. And while a mount of some kind was preferable, ideal even, if the opportunity to escape presented itself, he would do without. Better on foot than a prisoner here at Jensen’s mercy.

Mercy.

That was surely a jest, he chided himself, as his gaze was pulled almost unwillingly towards the rings inserted into his flesh and the image of the metal that trapped his manhood danced in his mind’s eye. That wasn’t mercy. And perhaps he deserved it, but it didn’t mean Jared had to lie there and take it. He pushed himself up a second time and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The sudden movement made his stomach list nauseously and his eyes darted about for some kind of chamber pot. He barely grabbed a brass basin on the floor beside his bed in time before scorching bile spewed out. And as he hunched over the bowl, yellow saliva dribbling from his lips, his new position caused his chest to ache anew as though someone had bitten through his nipples.

Jared found himself laughing even as he spat the foul liquid from his mouth. He couldn’t seem to catch a breather between one pain and another.

It was at that moment that Assaf chose to enter the room unannounced, carrying a small tray. Upon discovering the state Jared was in, the man placed the tray on the only table in the room and rushed to the Englishman’s side, rag in hand. Gently removing the bowl from Jared’s clammy hands, he dabbed at the young man’s mouth with the damp cloth like a mother would a babe. Perhaps it was the anger over the previous night’s events bubbling to the fore, but Jared, normally the most reserved of souls, shoved the man’s hand away.

“Enough,” he rasped, dragging his hand across his mouth. “I have had enough of unwanted touches.”

Seemingly abashed, Assaf nodded and removed the foul bowl from Jared’s immediate vicinity. Jared reached down to massage his sore chest and hissed as his fingers lightly brushed the golden hoops. He hung his head low, letting his hair swing forward and provide cover from prying eyes.

“You will need to clean them every day,” Assaf said after a minute’s silence. When Jared lifted his head, he saw that the odalik had returned to his side, holding the tray out deferentially. On it were two tiny bowls and a small jug. “Pour the salt water in each and hold them against your chest for five minutes both morning and night. That will keep them clean.”

“And how am I supposed to tell time, hmm? Your sheikh has robbed me of my belongings in much the same manner his men did before him,” he snapped, trying not to think about what Jensen might have done with them. What he might have seen.

Assaf’s eyes shifted about in a guilty fashion, not meeting Jared’s. “I can get you a timepiece,” he offered quietly.

“But not mine, correct?”

“No, I do not have access to…the items you arrived with,” he answered carefully. Jared wondered if it was a language barrier or simply the odalik’s way of sidestepping the issue when he didn’t refer to Jared’s possessions as his.

“Well, a clock would certainly cheer the place up, wouldn’t it?”

Assaf neither agreed nor disagreed with Jared. He held silent watch, apparently prepared to oversee Jared’s care of his violated flesh. “Are you simply going to stand there?” Jared demanded.

Assaf jerked his head once in the affirmative. “You need to clean them,” he waved his fingers towards Jared’s torso, “and you asked me not to touch you.”

Jared snorted. “Of course, now you listen to me,” he mumbled. But he held his tongue from further haranguing. Assaf was as much as prisoner, Jared supposed, as he was. The man had no reason to aid him, so he reckoned he had no call to be rude to him in return. And, Jared reasoned, he might need his help at some point, whether the other man realized he was giving it or not. Switching tacks, Jared poured the liquid from the jug into one of the bowls and made a show of examining it.

“It is only sea water,” Assaf offered. “Nothing that can harm you although it might sting some.”

Jared leaned forward, pressed the bowl flush against his left nipple and sat upright. He hissed under his breath, but the sting was minor compared to the ache of the piercing itself. “Twice a day, you say?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Isn’t that quite a hardship to port water from the ocean all the way here merely for this?” he asked while indicating his chest.

“Not at all,” the other man answered quickly. “It isn’t all that far, after all.”

Jared let his eyes drop to his bare feet. So the ocean wasn’t far. If he could make it there, he could follow along the coast easily enough. Qatar was a peninsula and Doheh was directly on the eastern side as the sun rose. He had been south of the city when he was taken, so odds were he was still south of it, although that was no certainty. Either way, Jared assured himself, if he could reach the coast, he could eventually manage to get himself somewhere other than here.

As though a mind reader, Assaf suddenly added, “It won’t do you any good. Even if you were to somehow find your way outside, you might find the ocean, it is true. But,” he paused and gestured beyond the wall of the seraglio, “if you make one wrong decision, there is nothing waiting for you but Al-Ramlah – the sand. And lost in that is not an easy way to die.”

Jared didn’t say anything and hoped his expression gave nothing away. He had no wish to clue the man in on his plans more than he might already have. He placed the first bowl down harder than needed, the only rebellion he could offer, and repeated the process of soaking his right nipple with the clean bowl, grunting noncommittally.

While he did that, he watched as Assaf stepped back over to the table against the wall and picked up the bowl filled with Jared’s sick. He quietly exited the room with it. From the window, Jared watched as he bent down on the other side, momentarily disappearing from view, and apparently retrieved a different tray. He returned, not bothering to close the door and placed the larger tray on the table, along with a bundle of what looked like clothing that he had tucked under his arm. Craning his neck discreetly, Jared tried to see what was beyond his tiny cell. There was no other way he could think to call the room, despite the lack of obvious bars. Beyond the doorway, there was a metal railing followed by a gaping space and then another set of doors across the open chasm.

“If you are done with that,” Assaf interrupted his observations, “I have a simple breakfast for you and a change of clothes.”

Jared didn’t answer. He returned the second bowl to the tray and stared ahead. Assaf was undeterred by his silence. He moved the new tray over to the bed, next to where Jared sat. “Fresh bread, some jam and cheese,” he explained as he uncovered the various dishes. “And cool water. After last night, you should drink several glasses.”

Jared slowly swiveled his head in the odalik’s direction at his practically casual mention of the previous evening, but bit his tongue. Whatever anger or embarrassment he was feeling didn’t compare to the subtle elation that he now knew how long he’s been here. He struggled to keep his face calm as his mind raced. “Thank you,” he spoke quietly.

Although his stomach wanted to rebel, Jared attempted to eat everything offered to him, not knowing when he might get another meal if his plans came to fruition. And with the way Assaf stood guard, Jared knew he would have no opportunity to secret away anything for later. He supposed it was a good thing that the man had selected mostly bland foods to bring him, as he didn’t believe anything more exotic would have survived long inside of him this morn. He was loath to admit that he did feel moderately better after having two glasses of the fresh, sweet water and vowed to never take or smoke anything again as he had yesterday.

"If you’re finished, why don’t you change and I can show you where everything can be found within the seraglio,” the other man suggested as Jared swallowed the last of his food.

Jared tried not to glare as Assaf exchanged the empty tray for the bundle of dark clothes. He unwrapped the garments, which were dark and silky in his hands. Unlike the white shirt, heavily embroidered vest and midnight-blue pants Assaf wore, what Jared had been allotted was a simple shirt and pants of stark black. The style was probably meant to be insulting, seeming very plain compared to what the others he had seen had on, but Jared was grateful. His modesty, such as it was, would be preserved with the humble selections. The only thing that was missing was something for his feet.

Ever observant, Assaf said, “I will have some slippers for you tomorrow.”

 _I won’t be here tomorrow. Not if I have anything to say about it,_ Jared thought. He would make do with whatever he could steal.

Unbeknownst to what Jared was contemplating, Assaf continued on. “And the same with your clothes. Within a week at most, I should have a larger variety of things for you to wear. Not many are as tall as you,” he added apologetically, “and so many things have to be made to fit exactly.”

Jared repressed a shudder, wondering who else had touched him to measure him for this custom wardrobe he would as soon see burned on a pyre than wear. He could only guess what Jensen would want to see him in.

“Please, put them on,” the odalik urged him, before making a show of turning around.

Jared darted a quick glance towards the open doorway, but saw no one near. The sooner he changed, the sooner he could start scouting out the building and plotting his escape. With a sigh, he stood up on slightly shaky limbs and undid the tie of his pants, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. He was hard pressed not to let out a choked sob when he saw the state of his manhood and all the bare skin surrounding it. With a clearer head and better view than the previous night, it dawned on Jared that he was bare everywhere. Not a hair, save for what was on his head, had been spared from that devilish treatment. He was almost afraid to touch himself, like his body had become someone else’s. Looking as little as possible, he stepped into the black pants. Getting into the shirt was more of a struggle, however, and he couldn’t stop the pained wincing sounds he made as he struggled with the sleeves.

Assaf turned back around at Jared’s audible distress and wordlessly helped him slip into the shirt. “Someone else will clear everything away,” he explained to Jared as he ushered the Englishman from the room.

Jared walked carefully, but found he didn’t need to pick his steps across the floor, barefoot as he was. The tiles beneath him were perfectly smooth.

 _Like I am_ , he thought morosely and shivered.

Once in the hallway, Jared stuttered to a halt, turning his head from side to side. The hallway he was standing in wrapped around a garden courtyard. A courtyard he was three stories above. Taking a moment to lean against the handrail, Jared peered over the edge. Each level, as far as he could tell, had a series of doors evenly spaced apart. He gulped, wondering if there was a member of the harem resting behind each one. The numbers were boggling. Trying not to linger over those implications, Jared twisted around and looked upwards, squinting in the blinding sunlight, cautiously bringing up a hand to shield his eyes. He cursed inwardly that his deliberate movements were concessions for the rings he wore. The center was wide open, obviously designed that way to let in the elements for the sake of garden and light for the collection of rooms. Contemplating the heights, he believed he might be tall enough to stand on the rail and swing himself up to the roof above the rooms, but without knowing exactly what was on the other side, he guessed he would need some kind of rope to lower himself down safely. He would make a poor escapee if he broke his leg or worse before he’d gone ten feet.

Keeping that in mind, he let Assaf guide him to one end of the hallway. Pointedly trying to ignore every room they passed, Jared almost walked into the other man, not realizing he had stopped. “Here,” Assaf gestured to the last door before a set of stairs. “You can…refresh yourself before we go on.”

“I don’t understand,” Jared began, but the odalik’s meaning became clear as he swung open the door. Jared spotted several washstands with basins inside and a partitioned section beyond them.

“I will stay here,” Assaf assured him.

Jared entered what, for all intents and purposes, was a water closet. A quick perusal revealed no windows, only small openings in the ceiling to let in light and fresh air. Splashing water on his face haphazardly, Jared made a point not to look directly at his reflection in the mirror. He had no desire to face himself just yet. Out of habit, he looked for some shaving soap before stopping. He wouldn’t make himself more exposed than they already had. And, he realized, he probably wouldn’t be trusted with a razor in any case. As he supposed, behind the tiled half-wall was a place where he could relieve himself. He tried very hard not to dwell on the fact that the device he currently wore was easier to manage than the one his father had foisted on him. Of course that one hadn’t had a lock.

Assaf was waiting patiently for him when he exited. Together, they descended the stairs. Jared thought it odd they hadn’t come across any others, but when they reached the bottom of the last staircase, he noticed the silhouette of a man at the far end of the garden, near a barred passage. As he and the odalik moved amongst the plants and flowers, Jared realized the other man must have been a guard like Wisdom and Worthy. Dressed in nothing more than a turban and what the pearl divers of Doheh had worn, the sword strapped to his side was unmistakable. Jared shivered.

“Is he a eunuch?” Jared found himself asking, morbid curiosity getting the better of him despite his fear.

“Yes,” Assaf confirmed. “All the guards are. No men who are not to be bedded by the sheikh are allowed to live within these walls.”

Jared glanced briefly at the dark-skinned eunuch, somehow now seen as less than a man, before turning away. He was fortunate the paths were so well maintained, because he was no longer walking with any regard for his bare feet. Instead, he thought of the guard. He couldn’t begin to imagine life with part of his body stolen away like that.

Sidling closer, Assaf lowered his voice and whispered, “You would do well to stay clear of them.”

“I’m not daft. I saw the weapon he was carrying,” Jared replied harshly, fear and disgust swirling together.

“There is more than that,” the other man continued. “Depending on when and how they were unmanned, the eunuchs can be your worst enemy.”

“’How they were unmanned’?” Jared gulped.

Assaf padded along silently, nodding. “If they were taken young and had everything cut off, they are mostly calm.” He didn’t notice how Jared had paled at “everything”. “If they only had their…” and for the first time that day, Assaf appeared to have to struggle for the word, “…bollocks crushed or removed after reaching manhood, they still remember what it was like to be a man. And those you should be wary of, for they have nothing but time to make your life most unpleasant in the harem. They may guard you, but they hate you in equal measure for everything you still are that they are not.”

Jared barely noticed the various, vaulted hallways Assaf led him through after that, letting the ominous discourse wash over him. He tried, however, to keep his bearings even as his stomach tossed uneasily. Forcing his thoughts towards understanding how the building was laid out, Jared did his best to count his paces and the various directions they turned even as he marveled at its size.

They moved into an extremely wide hallway, where the right side was a solid wall with no windows and left was open with a series of columns that ran its length. Beyond those stone pillars was a courtyard lusher and more verdant than the one beneath Jared’s cell. Flowers and trees the young Englishman had never seen before were in bloom and some of their perfume drifted by. And across the garden, Jared saw there were another two stories above. There appeared to be larger apartments located there, with tapestries and rich cloth draped near a variety of windows and doorways. They looked nothing like the quarters he had come from. “What is that?” Jared asked.

“Those rooms belong to the Valide,” Assaf replied curtly.

When his escort offered no other information, Jared decided to let the matter drop. Better he focus his attention on the placement of rooms and walls than worry overly as to who lived where. Another series of turns led them alongside another courtyard. Before he could even ask the odalik, Assaf said, “That is the Courtyard of the Gözdes – the Favorites.”

At Jared’s mostly curious stare, Assaf sighed softly. He stopped them near another archway and faced the young Englishman with a pained expression. “There are layers of stratum within the harem, as in any society. At the lowest end are the odalik such as myself,” and he swept a hand up to his chest. “I am nothing more than a chambermaid, here not to serve the man of the household, but his concubines.”

“But I thought that only -” Jared paused and swallowed heavily, “-only men could live within the seraglio.” And he kept his eyes firmly fixed above Assaf’s waist.

“That is correct. But odalik always have the chance, however slim, to advance. But that will never happen for me,” he added almost sadly.

“Why not?” Jared asked.

Glancing away, Assaf replied, “I was a gift for the sheikh many years ago, when we were both boys of a similar age. You could say we grew up together and so he sees me more as a brother than a lover.”

“So there’s nothing else for you here?” Jared was uncomfortable with the growing feeling of sadness and frustration the other man was stirring within him. He had no desire to feel charitable to anyone within these walls, least of which the man who had played such a prominent role in his degradation. But there was something undeniably tragic about being trapped in a life where you couldn’t escape because of the consideration and, most likely, love from your jailer.

Assaf shrugged delicately. “I do whatever I can to improve my condition,” he answered, but still did not meet Jared’s gaze. “After the odalik come the concubines,” and then the other man looked directly at him. The “like you” was unspoken but clear enough. Jared dropped his eyes and felt his cheeks flame. “If a concubine manages to catch the sheikh’s eye and pass some time in his bed, they move up to ikbal. From there, if any are summoned to return a second time or more, they are elevated to Gözde.”

“And that is everything?” Jared murmured, tasting something sour in his mouth.

“No,” Assaf shook his head, “there are the Kadin. A sheikh may have no more than four. They are like your English spouses. And the final place of honor is reserved for the Valide – the mother of the sheikh’s son. The Valide has absolute power within these walls.”

Jared wasn’t sure how he felt about what he’d learned from the brief discourse on the hierarchy of the harem. Thinking back to all the doors he had passed, Jared didn’t want to know how many people Jensen had been with, who he might have taken as a husband or wife or, worse yet, and who he had sired children with. He attributed the continued roiling of his stomach to the aftereffects of what he had partaken of the night before, because what kind of person would he be if he was suddenly troubled by any thoughts other than escape?

“Come,” Assaf pressed, unaware of Jared’s tumultuous emotions. “It is time you met the others.” And he swept aside the heavy drapes that covered the archway, urging Jared through it.

Once Jared stepped through the keyhole shaped space, his mouth fell open. The courtyard he faced was larger than any he’d seen so far, flooded in hazy sunlight. If his memory wasn’t too distorted, he estimated the space might be over half the size of the grand, domed room he had passed through on his way to the hammam. The entire area was surrounded by a covered walkway where columns sprang up every six or seven feet, supporting curved archways. Making everything even brighter were the gleaming floor tiles of white, with circular onyx pieces connecting their corners. Close to the far wall was a pool that took up a quarter of the courtyard itself and beyond that, an additional portico where several divans rested. At least three Persian rugs covered portions of the floor and piles of pillows provided additional seating. But what made Jared catch his breath was the sheer number of people that loitered there.

There had to have been at least fifty men and women lounging about, some sprawled on the carpets while eunuchs held great fans over them for shade and comfort. Others plucked tunes from instruments that vaguely resembled mandolins for equally bored looking audiences. By the pool, a group of five or so splashed one another and cavorted like children, while some chose to watch from the edges, only dangling their feet in the cool liquid. And many rested against the mountains of cushions, taking drags from the insidious huqqas that seemed to never be far from sight.

As he gaped at the spectacle, Assaf stepped near, practically whispering up into his ear. “Remember this: even as you watch them, they will always be watching you, too.” Slowly, like an unrelenting tide rolling in, one pair of eyes after another turned towards him.

The odalik straightened his posture and, in a normal voice, made a broad, all-encompassing gesture. “Welcome to the Golden Cage.”


	13. Chapter 13

 

Jensen lost track of how long he rode, letting the thud of hooves in sand calm his heart until it beat the same rhythm, and when he finally reined Shaitan in, the last vestiges of the night had faded away like a troubling dream. He sat in the saddle, unmoving, watching the day unfold before him. Unlike Homer’s beloved “rosy-fingered dawn”, sunrise in the Al-Ramlah was merely a subtle shift from cobalt and sapphire to molten shades of amber and gold. There was nothing delicate or gentle about it. There were only extremes as the glowing disk slowly crept up above the horizon, the few trees and rocks casting shadows across the sands so sharp they could draw blood. As he and his mount caught their collective breath, Jensen mourned the fact that he actually found himself longing for the green of England and cursed himself for his weakness.

And he was weak.

It wasn’t only the foreign shore, the moist air and emerald forests he missed. Jared’s return had solidified that fact. Here, he was a ruler amongst rulers, owning all that he surveyed and yet all he had paled before all he yearned for. But he could no more deny his destiny than he could command the sun to halt its path across the heavens. His father’s death had merely hastened the inevitable, forcing a hand he was doomed to play regardless of his desires. Still, that same, capricious fate had also cast Jared’s lot once more with his. That had to mean something. Even if it only meant revenge.

Revenge.

He would hold onto that. Even though those feelings burned inside of him and made his heart squeeze as if under a great pressure. Jared was once again in his life and he would have retribution. He would satisfy his honor. Absently, he stroked Shaitan’s neck, the stallion huffing in response.

“You don’t want any affection today, do you?” he said softly to his horse, retracting his hand. “I understand.”

Nearly four years old, the black horse was his pride and joy. Jensen had not only bred him, but Shaitan’s dam and sire before him. From a very young age, Jensen had been fascinated by the beasts in his father’s keep and his father had clung to that fascination like a lifeline. It was one of the few things he had been able to share with his pale-skinned, freckled son.

 _Besides my mother_ , he thought ruefully. _I suppose we had her in common_.

With a sharp squeeze to the stallion’s barrel, he struck up an easier pace for his return home. Shaitan was barely winded. Like all the equines Jensen raised, Shaitan excelled in endurance. His denser bones, short back and lean muscles all lent themselves to better surviving life in the desert. These were traits he had cultivated and prided himself on. He could still remember when his father had shown him Shaitan’s grand sire and explained how the roan chestnut was descended from the _Al Khamsa_. Wide-eyed, Jensen had listened, enraptured by the tale his father had spun. He explained how the Creator’s only prophet had driven his herd into the desert and, after many days, they’d finally spied an oasis. The horses ran for the precious water, but as they neared, the prophet called them back as a test. Only a handful returned without touching the pool and those became his favorite – his five. The Al Khamsa mares were the foundation for the distinctive horses known only to the Arabian Peninsula, with their deceptively slender bodies and haughty, arched necks.

Jensen had been enchanted by his father’s words and he had taken it all to heart. Over the beautiful beasts, he and the near-stranger who had sired him found equal footing. And, in those moments when Jensen was honest with himself, they had cultivated a mutual love. Not long after hearing the creation tale, Jensen began to spend as much time as possible within the family stables, learning all he could. He impressed not only the slaves who toiled within those walls, but his father as well. His mother…well, she had teased that if he spent any more time riding, his legs would forever be curved. She might have been right, but she also saw how much Jensen loved them. He had such a good eye for horseflesh and an innate sense of which to breed to produce the stoutest offspring, his father, Sheikh Ankour, ceded dominion of the stables to Jensen not long after he had turned ten. It was, perhaps, the only act of genuine affection that passed between them. And Jensen had plunged head first into knowing everything about the creatures. It had given him a way to escape his mother’s death, after all.

With subtle pressure from his thighs, Jensen urged Shaitan into a fast trot once his city was within sight. Morning prayer calls ringing in his ears, Jensen returned to the royal stables that lay behind the walls of his palace. The horses were treated much like family, afforded the same comforts and protection. He dismounted easily, ignored the looks his choice of habit garnered him and refused all offers of assistance. He tended to his horses as much as time permitted and always after he had ridden them.

“Don’t mind my touch so much now, do you?” he teased Shaitan, who all but butted into Jensen’s hands like a spoiled feline when he rubbed the stallion down. Jensen didn’t stop until the black beast’s coat shone like onyx, before giving him one last pat on his _jibbah_. The bulge between his eyes, made more prominent by a white blaze, was a particularly sensitive spot on the stallion and he only tolerated Jensen’s touch there.

Closing up Shaitan’s stall, Jensen paused at the next one. Alya, a mare Jensen had also bred, pushed up against her stall door, impatient and displeased. Her temperament was sweeter than Shaitan’s, but she could be a devil, too, when the mood struck.

“Sorry, pretty,” he apologized as he stroked her neck. At three, the mare’s pure white coat had given way to speckles of red, mostly splattering her shoulders in the highly-prized “bloody” pattern, marking the now “flea-bitten” gray as the perfect war horse amongst his people. He had planned for over a year to breed her with Shaitan, having earmarked the offspring as a gift for Jared, but had put it off after last summer. Brushing her soft coat, he told himself he would still move ahead with those plans, keeping the foal for himself instead.

“Next time, sweeting, I’ll put you through your paces,” he promised her softly. Nodding to himself, Jensen stepped away only to see Worthy at the far entrance to the stables.

“What?” he snapped as he drew close. The slim measure of peace he had found out in the wasteland evaporated like the meager rain that graced his land every year once he caught sight of his Kızlar Ağası. Worthy stood as still and resolute as a statue by the doors that connected the stable to the palace proper.

“The First Kadin requests the pleasure of your company and would like to break her fast with you,” he said gracefully and proper, his Arabic perfect even though it was not his native tongue.

Jensen let out a breath and resisted the urge to scrub at his face. He would give nothing away to the man before him. Worthy might be a chief under him, but, in the end, he belonged to the First Kadin and answered to her. He should have expected the invitation, had expected it in all honesty, but wanted to prolong the inevitable. He supposed he should be grateful he got his ride in first.

“Tell the First Kadin that I shall be there within a quarter hour,” was his response. Worthy tipped his head in acknowledgement and left as silently as he had arrived. Jensen gave his stables a last glance and exhaled loudly.

 _Best to simply get the meal and unavoidable inquisition over with_ , he thought.

Once Jensen had returned to his rooms, he tossed his kufiya and igal aside, raking his fingers through his short hair. He swatted the dust from his thobe. A bowl of steaming water and fresh linens had been placed on the small table and he kneeled beside it, splashing his face carelessly and then dabbing his skin dry. A few drops of water clung to the coarser hairs of his beard and as he wiped them away, he vaguely longed for a straight razor, thinking how cool the air against bare skin would be. But he dismissed the wayward thought. He considered changing his clothes, but dismissed that idea, too. If she wanted his company, she would get it, but on his terms. He wouldn’t honor her wishes, which were never anything more than cleverly concealed demands, with anything more than his presence.

Stepping behind a tall screen near his veranda, he slid his hand along the smooth wall until his fingers found the depression he was seeking. At a simple touch, a door, hidden to the eye, swung inward and he slipped inside the cool, dark corridor, closing the portal behind him. Small, recessed notches allowed some of the natural light to shine in and Jensen easily maneuvered his way along the relatively short distance until he was at his destination. With unerring accuracy, he pushed at the catch that released another door and he entered the chamber he had been seeking.

The rooms before him weren’t too different from how they had been kept when he was a child and he wasn’t sure quite how he felt about that. Part of him reveled in the nostalgia, while the larger part of him wished that everything had been changed after her death. The cupboards along the walls, inlaid with tortoiseshell and mother-of-pearl, glowed softly in the early morning light that was filtered and diffused by the latticed windows. He remembered dragging little hands along those wardrobes, occasionally trying to pry a piece of shell out to examine it more closely, to tilt it this way and that to watch the colors play across its surface, only to have his fingers caught up in his mother’s delicate hands and lightly reprimanded with a stern word but forgiving smile.

“We are in here,” a feminine voice called out from the next room. Jensen shook aside the memory and entered the dining room of the Valide.

Much larger than the first chamber, the receiving room opened up on one side to a veranda, much like Jensen’s bedchamber did. And the drapes had been tied back, allowing the early morning light to stream across the tiled floor. Along one wall, a single bookcase held a variety of tomes, many in languages that Jensen did not know and could barely recognize. Near the veranda, a brown falcon was tethered to a waist-high block by its jesses. The bird’s head turned, in that alien way that birds have, toward Jensen as he neared, but the hood it wore cut off its sight completely. Other than the quiet tinkle of the bell tied to its left claw, the animal made no sound.

“You should have a mews built for him,” Jensen said, turning to face the low table in the opposite corner.

“I’m teaching him to view the world as his mews,” the woman resting on a large cushion answered in English.

Jensen lifted his gaze at the sound of her voice. Although older than him by six years, one would never know to look at her. Covered from head to toe in sumptuous silks of white and gold, her face was powdered chalk white. Delicately curved brows arched over her sea colored eyes, which were heavily rimmed in kohl this morning. The only color on her face was her lips – rouged a deep ruby. It reminded Jensen of blood and he shuddered slightly. Her lips quirked upwards, perhaps having caught his involuntary reaction, and she slowly lowered the scarf from her head.

Eyes widening, Jensen could only remark, “Red.”

Curling her legs underneath her more, she combed her fingers through several, long strands. “I grew bored of the blonde. Do you like it?”

“It’s different. Suits you, though,” he admitted. What Jensen wouldn’t admit was that he was secretly glad she no longer shared the same color hair as his mother. It was bad enough she shared his mother’s rooms and invaded his childhood nineteen years ago.

“I mixed it myself from the henna in the garden,” she motioned to the veranda. “That and a little lemon juice, ground cloves and a few choice ingredients.”

Giving a quick glance out the open doorway, Jensen repressed another shudder at the courtyard below. Gone were his mother’s roses and daisies. So different from what his mother had cultivated, the area was full of strange and unusual flora. Jensen couldn’t name them all, but he understood that many were unnatural and had no place in the desert, kept alive only by the most careful tending. Flowers and vines wrapped around trees, which sagged under the weight of overripe fruits, filling the air with strange perfumes, at times sickeningly sweet and at others, foul and oppressive. He avoided the place once his mother had died.

“Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” he murmured.

“With silver bells, and cockle shells, and so my garden grows.” There was a pleased giggle behind him. “Jensen, you are such a dear. Please, sit,” she motioned to the stack of cushions opposite her, higher than what she rested on – the only outward sign she acknowledged his authority over her.

“Thank you, Alaina,” he said, foregoing her title as First Kadin in the same way she avoided his, and sat, cross-legged on the dark, embroidered pillows.

“It’s so nice,” she carried on, leaning forward to pour first Jensen and then herself a cup of hot, sweet tea, “how informal we can be with one another.” She vaguely motioned to his attire, but Jensen knew she meant his use of her name.

He could play as well. Sipping slowing from his cup, he retorted, “We are family, after all.”

Cocking her head to the side, she opened her mouth slightly, tongue peeking out of one corner. “How true. Speaking of which, I’ve called for Jacob to join us. He hasn’t seen you in weeks and he is dying to catch up with his older brother.”

Jensen swallowed down a grimace. An unfortunate side-effect of his strained relationship with Alaina was that his bond with his fifteen-year-old half-brother suffered for it. Alaina kept him so close under her wing, it was difficult to visit Jacob without Alaina’s accompaniment.

Switching topics, Jensen tipped his head toward the small fountain that bubbled cheerful behind Alaina. “I see you’ve an addition to the room.”

Stretching her neck to regard the new water sculpture, she smiled sweetly. “I think it adds a certain something.”

Jensen said nothing more as he drank his tea. While fountains did add a certain aesthetic, he was certain Alaina’s motivations behind the decoration were two-fold. Fountains, with their incessant churning of water, not only offered someone a way to cool themselves, but also made it extremely difficult for others to listen in on conversations. They were excellent deterrents to eavesdroppers. As was speaking in English. Nothing Alaina did was without calculation.

Dabbing delicately at her mouth, Alaina looked up at Jensen through her thick, black lashes. “But I suppose I’m not the only one with new additions, now am I?” There wasn’t a hint of coyness in her voice, even though her blue-green eyes were dancing with mirth and something else, which flashed briefly before fading away.

“No, you’re not,” he answered curtly, setting his cup down onto the brass table with a clack of china against metal.

“Now, now, Jensen. No need to be abrupt. I thought we could be open with one another,” she practically purred. Rising in a single, elegant motion of swirling silks, she padded over to a gilded sideboard and retuned with a tray, which she set daintily on the table before kneeling. Twin, tiny glasses framed a tall, crystal flagon topped with a silver lid and handle. There was a carafe of water there as well. She poured them each a small serving from the flagon before following up with a few splashes of chilled water. The clear beverage turned a milky white instantly. Jensen sniffed at it and raised an eyebrow.

“Raki?” he questioned her, disapprovingly. “Alcohol, Alaina?”

Tasting the beverage slowly, she caught a wayward drop on her lip with her tongue. “Oh, come now, Jensen,” she said after setting the glass down. “An apéritif before the meal is hardly scandalous. Besides, we both pick and choose what hadith we follow. No need to act so scandalized.” Taking another swallow, she nodded to Jensen’s pants and knee-high boots. “Considering the way you dress, one would have a hard time recognizing what you are these days anyway.”

He dropped his gaze to his dusty trousers and riding boots, both very obviously in the English style. “It is the most practical habit when riding,” he justified his choices, annoyed that she had him on the defensive already.

“Of course. Very logical decision, as usual,” she agreed easily. “That’s one of the things I do so admire about you, Jensen. You’re so thoughtful and logical, always making careful and measured decisions. That’s why, I have to admit, I was somewhat taken aback by your hasty inclusion to the harem yesterday.” Jensen thought that if she were a cat, her tail would have been swishing at this point.

Inhaling deeply, Jensen let his eyes flutter shut. When he opened them, he hoped they were stony and impenetrable. “What I do with the harem is my concern alone.”

“That’s where you are mistaken,” she snapped, sitting up stiffly. All manner of decadent feline was gone. “It is very much my concern what transpires there. The harem is mine to rule.”

“You are not the Valide,” he replied decisively. “You are a Kadin only. You shouldn’t even be here,” he gestured to the apartment.

Alaina curled her hands slowly into fists. “I am the First Kadin. The only Kadin, I might remind you. And since I am the mother of the only heir to the throne, I might as well be Valide.” She unclenched her hands, breathing slowly and regained her earlier composure. “And as your father’s only wife, he saw no issue with me moving into these rooms while you were away in England. As Aristotle wrote, nature abhors a vacuum. There was a space here, and I filled it.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeated lowly, barely above a growl.

“I am here now and this is all mine. I earned it over the last nineteen years,” she answered just as dangerously. “And since I am mother to the heir, what transpires within these walls is my business as this is _my_ dominion.”

“Until one of the ikbal is with child, you mean,” Jensen corrected her, even though that would never happen. But Alaina didn’t know that. “Then they would join the rank of Kadin and, eventually, succeed you as the true Valide, once they give birth.”

Before either one could say more, a young boy burst into the room, trailed by two servants carrying large trays. “Jensen,” he announced excitedly.

With a side glance to Alaina, Jensen rose to his feet and embraced the young man. He couldn’t help but smile, as Jacob squeezed him tightly in return. When they broke apart, the boy eyed Jensen critically.

“You went riding without me again,” he pouted.

Jensen ruffled his short, blond locks because he knew how it infuriated him. Jacob slapped away his hand and tried to smooth his hair, not that there was much to fix. Like his older brother, Jacob kept his short. Although he claimed it was practical, Jensen suspected it was so his younger brother looked more like him.

“Sorry. I promise that the next time I go out for a tour, I’ll take you with me, Jake.”

“It’s Jacob,” Alaina corrected him from where she was still seated.

Jacob rolled his big, blue eyes at Jensen and sat down next to his mother while the servants laid out a variety of foods for breakfast. In addition to another pot of tea, there were eggs, pickles, za’atar, olive oil, flat bread, fruit, leftovers from dinner and coffee. And Jensen was grateful for the reprieve from conversation with Alaina.

Dipping a piece of flat bread in the olive oil and then the za’atar, which added spices and flavor to the food, Jensen questioned Jake about his studies. The lad was eager enough to discuss his recent astronomy lessons in addition to what he’d learned about the trade winds from his sailing master.

“He’s somewhat concerned that patterns indicate the Al-Dabaran will be late this year,” he told Jensen between mouthfuls of last night’s chicken. Jensen shook his head in amazement at the amount of food Jake was consuming. A growth spurt must be on the horizon, he suspected. The top of the boy’s head reached his chin now; there was every reason to believe he would be as tall as Jensen, if not taller. He definitely got that from their father, along with his fuller mouth. But his hair, eyes and skin were all his mother’s.

 _Just like me_ , Jensen supposed. And that realization made him smile wistfully.

“What do you think, Jensen?” Jake asked pointedly.

“Hmm?” Jensen murmured.

“You’ll have to excuse your brother, Jacob,” Alaina slipped in smoothly. “I suspect he’s somewhat tired from last night’s activities. I know Matthew certainly is.” She hid her smirk behind her cup of tea as she drank.

Jacob scrunched up his nose and faced Jensen. “I thought…” but he trailed off, leaving his musing unspoken.

“Thought what, darling?” his mother prodded him.

Shrugging, Jake went back to eating. “I thought Jensen didn’t go in for that kind of thing.”

Alaina lifted her face to look directly at Jensen and let out a laugh that echoed along the walls. “Your brother’s exploits are practically legendary within the seraglio.”

“Alaina,” Jensen warned.

“Come now. Jacob is practically an adult. He understands how this all works,” and she made a wave of her hand, encompassing the room.

Jensen’s little brother dropped his head, as though his plate’s scraps were infinitely more interesting than the conversation happening around him, but his skin bore the telltale flush of embarrassment. “I do understand, Mother, how things work and what tradition demands. I just thought Jensen was different.”

She patted him consolingly along his slender arm. “Jensen is no different than your father was. In fact,” she turned sly eyes towards him, since Jake was still studying his plate, “he’s finally added someone of his own to the harem, instead of relying on your father’s choices alone.”

Jensen ground his teeth, jaw flexing in anger. There was little he would say in front of his brother and she had known that, had counted on it, in point of fact.

Jake’s head shot up. “Is that true, Jensen?”

Alaina continued, in her element now. “Oh, yes. A lovely, young Englishman.” Studying her son, she added as she brushed her fingers through his hair, “Why, I don’t think he’s much older than you, Jacob. Quite tall, with dark hair and beauty marks scattered _all_ over his body. Very exquisite addition. Your older brother, in every circumstance, has a good eye.”

Jensen seethed, jaw now clenching and unclenching. How did she know of Jared’s marks?

The color continued to rise on Jake’s cheeks. Perplexed, he asked Jensen, “Why would you do that? Why would you take someone?”

Jensen swallowed and turned his head towards the veranda, not meeting the boy’s eyes. How did you explain to someone who was still a child about honor and heartbreak and revenge in a manner which they would understand?

“It’s tradition,” Jensen finally said, using that cowardly fallback.

“It doesn’t seem right,” Jake mumbled.

“Darling, it is the way of life here,” Alaina cooed, still combing his hair.

Placing his hands flat on the small table, Jake shifted his gaze between the two adults. “Piracy is a way of life for the Bani Yas, and yet we police them and try to curtail their activities. And the English,” he continued, voice growing more strong and sure, “have certainly attempted to police us and our ways for nearly a century, which we resist at every turn. Just because something is tradition does not make it right.”

For a moment, the three were silent. Jensen regarded his little brother and saw glimpses of the man he was growing into. Despite whatever he felt about Alaina, her son was shaping up to be his own man and he was pleased.

“And simply because it is tradition doesn’t make it wrong,” Alaina replied, voice stern. “This isn’t a horrible way to live, Jacob. The men and women of the harem have a good life. Your father saved them and even me from a harsh fate at the hands of slavers. Those within the seraglio are fed and clothed. All their needs are met eventually. All of them.” She shot a pointed glance at Jensen. “Isn’t that right, Jensen? Don’t you make certain they have everything they need?”

He curled his lip when he answered, “Yes.” He would somehow make Aliana pay for the corner she had painted him into in front of his brother.

Voice once again sugary, she added, “Even the new one’s tears will dry eventually. I’m quite certain the other members of the harem are even now making him feel welcome and sharing all the details of his new life with him so he has something to look forward to.”

A sharp pain stabbed at Jensen’s heart with the mention of Jared’s sadness, but his growing anger easily smothered it. “I think it best we discuss something else. This is hardly a fit topic for meal time,” he decreed.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Jake said softly.

Trying to salvage something out of the morning, Jensen spoke a little too eagerly. “Well, if you’re finished, maybe this afternoon we could take that tour I promised you.”

Eyes lighting up, Jake answered hopefully. “Really? You won’t change your mind again?”

“I won’t,” Jensen promised. “In fact, we’ll have a meal packed and stay out until evening.” Jensen was pleased the offer had cheered up and distracted his little brother. “That is, unless your mother has any objections, of course.” His smile grew more shrewd at the scowl on Alaina’s face. If she refused now, she would be the villainess in her son’s eyes.

“Is it all right, Mother? We’ll be very careful,” Jake promised, turning to plead his case to her.

Her visage softened. “Go and enjoy yourself, darling,” she replied. “I think that sounds like a marvelous way to spend the afternoon. In fact, I think I will take advantage of the opportunity and have a long lunch with the young Englishman.” She smirked at Jensen. “Properly meet him this time.”

Jensen kept a grin fixed in place while Jake chattered happily about where they might go and who he would ride, but all the while he seethed inside. She had turned the tables on him once more. There was no way he could refuse to spend time with Jake, and that left her free to do…whatever it was that she did with members of the harem. It wasn’t that he was worried about Jared, he told himself. It was simply that if anyone was going to make him suffer, it would be him. But Alaina had every right to spend time with him as she saw fit. His hands were bound by tradition.

Hoist in his own petard.

Interrupting his babble, Jake’s mother offered, “Since we’re done eating, why don’t I help you pick out what you’re going to wear and,” she raised a hand to Jake’s clearly put upon sigh at being mothered, “talk to your tutor. Perhaps you could do some map and compass work and have it count towards your studies.”

Brightening further, Jake declared, “You have the best ideas, Mother.” And he kissed her cheek.

“I do, don’t I?” she agreed, locking eyes with Jensen. “Come on,” she suggested, rising to her feet and offering her son her hand. “Let’s see to all the arrangements. Your brother can see himself out. He knows the way, after all.”

“See you this afternoon,” Jake chirped, practically tugging his mother along behind him.

“Goodbye, Jensen,” Alaina added breezily, waving her bejeweled hand over her shoulder as Jake held her other one.

Jensen rose and stood in the empty room, squeezing his fists impotently and silently vowed to gain some control back in his life, no matter what the cost.

Even if that control was over just one thing.


	14. Chapter 14

Sample of an oud playing a short tune. Full credits and license can be found at Soundcloud. 

_ _

 

Jared walked, as if half-asleep, amongst the men and women of the harem. There were so many milling about, in swirls of green, gold and blue like curious peacocks. As he stepped carefully between small clusters of them, he noticed the way their eyes slid over him – curious, but assessing. He lowered his gaze anytime someone stared at him directly, flushing hotly under the unforgiving sun that was growing harsh and stripping everything bare under its eye. For a moment, flashes of his first soirée rose up in his memories. The sweltering, stuffy room full of the ton, bodies pressed too closely together, who also gawked, measured and decided one’s worth. The clothes might be different, but the games were the same, Jared realized. He could do this, he told himself firmly.

 _I am not going to be here long enough to worry about my acceptability,_ he thought, _but rather ‘press on toward the goal to win the prize’._

Right or wrong, it was fairly easy to spot those not a part of the harem. A handful – no more than six – dark-skinned men, covered head to toe in full, black robes, moved about the throng. _Patrol_ might be too strong a word, since some carried trays of colorful and succulent fruits between the cliques and one touted around a small huqqa, but Jared noted they kept an eye on everyone while they did those more menial tasks. Approximately one guard for every ten of them.

 _Them?_ Jared thought. When did he become _them_?

Shielding his eyes, he turned his face upward, appearing to momentarily soak in the sun and the open patch of clear, blue sky above. In reality, he was trying to gain a sense of direction – where east might lie. He also noticed, as he slowly circled around, the rooftops of several buildings nearby, but they only appeared on two sides. He wondered if this particular courtyard might be situated in a corner. Lowering his eyes once more, he noted that the portico, which jutted out over part of the pool, had its own roof. And that roof was only a few feet underneath the overhang above the covered walkway that fenced in the entire courtyard. There was no way Jared could reach the overhang from the walkway railing without a rope with a weighted end or hook attached. But he might be able to make it from the portico railing to its roof on his own and then the overhang above. He wiped at his dampening brow even as his mind began to race at the possibilities.

“Come,” a soft, feminine voice urged him, startling him from his thoughts. Was he found out already? Jared worried. Could they read his fledgling plans even as they had started to take root?

Jared looked down and then down a little more for the source of the sound. A young woman, probably only a few years older than him, although he was oftentimes terrible at such estimates, had tugged on his shirt sleeve. Her skin was the color of warm honey and she had thick waves of glossy, chocolate hair, which she wore loosely and about her bare shoulders. The sloe-eyed woman was dressed in ruby silk that clung to her like another layer of skin, revealing all her feminine wiles while still meeting the minimum of decorum for propriety’s sake.

Just barely.

“You look too warm,” she continued, grasping his wrist in her tiny hands and pulling him towards the pool. Too startled by her forwardness to do or say anything to the contrary, Jared simply let himself be led. When they reached the side of the pool shaded from the direct sunlight, she dropped easily to the ground and sunk her legs carelessly into the shallow water, with no regard to the expensive material she wore. Jared watched the silk billow and puff in the water like a cloud of blood.

“Here,” she told him, and pat the square of white tile next to her.

Jared scratched absently at the side of his jaw and gave the courtyard a quick perusal. Although no one was looking at him directly, he still felt their staring eyes. Assaf was no longer in sight and, bereft of the only anchor he had in this strange world, he acquiesced. His decision seemed to please the woman a great deal, if her smile was any measure of her feelings. He sat down on her right and pulled his legs up towards his chest. When he tried to wrap his arms around his knees, he hissed in discomfort. For an instant, he had forgotten the damned rings stuck in his body, but the pull of his shoulders and chest had caused a twinge of pain, reminding him.

“Not like that,” the woman in red said and churned the water by kicking her legs back and forth. “Like this.”

Jared rolled up his dark pants as best he could and lowered his bare feet and calves into the aqua pool. Almost unwilling, his toes flexed and relaxed at the cool relief and he sighed.

“See?” She smiled and dipped her hands in the water before bringing them back up to blot at her face and neck, a few drops rolling down to stain the top of her “dress”. On the opposite side, a trio still gamboled about, though they weren’t doing the most covert job of observing Jared and his new companion.

Unsure of social cues, Jared simply introduced himself without fanfare, tipping his head. “I’m Jared.”

“I’m Genevieve,” she replied cheerfully.

Completely out of his element and suddenly finding that thought– how could this ever _be_ his element? – so absurd, Jared simply blurted out the first thing he could think of. “It’s very hot today, isn’t it?”

Genevieve tilted her head, a clump of dark hair falling over her right eye. “Is that really the best you can do? No ‘how do you speak English so well’ or ‘how long have you been here’ or even ‘how do you get out’?” And she smiled. It was a slow, wicked thing to behold.

Jared paled. He glanced about nervously and gulped. “I-I don’t –” he began but she cut him off with a quick hand on his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fluster you so,” she started, sounding sincere and stroking him. “You just looked so lost that I thought you’d be more than happy to talk to me. Not everyone here,” and she swept her gaze across the courtyard before turning back to him, “can or will speak to you.”

“But you will,” he wondered, before he had time to take in what she had implied.

Genevieve shrugged her tiny shoulders and went back to studying her legs as they kicked languorously in the water. “I have nothing to lose by speaking with you.”

Jared cocked his head. “Nothing to lose?”

Painting strange sigils in the pool with one hand, Genevieve replied, “I had my chance with our Sheikh. With both of them, actually, and…well…” she trailed off, tapping her flat stomach, “nothing took.”

Jared swallowed several times at her words. She’d slept with Jensen. And, apparently, Jensen’s father. But Jensen had had his hands on her, had kissed her, had…He shivered despite the rising heat of the day. She continued on, “At the rate he goes through the harem, it will be another year at least before I’m called back. Now, some of them,” she splashed water in the vague direction of a group of three women and one man, who huddled close together where they sat on a large, woven rug and chattered quietly, “will not be as charitable to you as I am.”

“And why not?” Jared had finally found his voice again, driving back the unwanted flashes he had of Jensen and this woman wrapped up in each other.

“They’re the next in line to…be with the sheikh,” she stumbled in her English a trifle.

“There’s an order to it?” he rasped, incredulous, mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh, yes,” she agreed amiably. “There is a schedule kept in a ledger. But no one here knows where your place is on it yet. You see,” she leaned against his side for all the world like a long lost friend – Jared had never been this close to a woman besides his mother in his entire life – and continued quietly, “you are the first one Jensen has ever handpicked.”

“Everyone here is from his father’s time?” Jared wasn’t too sure how he felt about his singular “honor”.

Genevieve bobbed her head, her hair swaying with the motion. “Everyone, including myself, is from the previous sheikh’s time.”

“He brought you all here? Did he-he steal you?” Jared stuttered.

Genevieve quirked her eyebrows. “No, none of us were stolen by him. Some, well, mostly the older ones were bought from the slave markets in Morocco. From what I’ve heard, this is quite a step up from how they had been treated there,” she explained. “Others, like myself, were given as gifts from other harems.”

“You came from another harem?” he asked, not yet ready to get into a moral debate with her about how those bought from a slave market were just as stolen as they had been from their homelands.

“I was. It’s not completely unheard of for sheikhs to trade concubines between themselves. In my case, I was one of the many, many daughters of another sheikh and was given to our sheikh’s father. It was the most opportune move he could make.”

Jared, slightly numb, nodded. Political matchmaking was the same everywhere around the world, he reckoned, with fathers pairing off their children like they were merely assets to advance their standing. He rubbed his hands along the tiles, noticing the black squares were much warmer than the white ones, so he leant all his weight on the dark marble, letting the heat practically brand his palms. It gave him something to focus on other than the information he would rather not know.

“So I was trained with a variety of skills, including several languages, to increase my value,” she carried on. “I know many things, Jared.” And she gave him a cunning look. “I could teach you a few things.”

Before he could reply to that, one of the eunuchs came in, carrying a large, wooden bucket that slopped water over its sides, followed by another who had a great bird perched on his arm. A thin, gold chain glinted in the sunlight as it swung between the foot of the bird and the guard’s wrist.

“Oh, watch this, Jared,” Genevieve practically squealed as the first guard upturned the bucket into the pool. A half a dozen or more fat, golden-orange fish darted through the water. The second guard let the bird – some kind of egret or heron, Jared suspected, going by its shape and snowy-white feathers – loose and it landed with a “ _kwok”_ of indignation into the pool and immediately began hunting the fish. Many of the other concubines hurried to sit or kneel around the pool’s edge, pointing and laughing at the spectacle. Someone in the background began playing a strange instrument, something that looked like a mandolin or baroque guitar, but Jared had no idea what it was exactly, the sound familiar and exotic all at once. He slowly grew nauseous at the festive air that enveloped the courtyard over one animal slaughtering another. He didn’t hide his unease very well.

“What’s wrong?” Genevieve asked, but Jared couldn’t bring himself to answer. Was this all there was to their life here? Was this supposed to be _his_ life, where the only joy would come from watching animals tear each other apart? The man playing the stringed instrument picked up the tempo, the odd notes jangling Jared’s already-taut nerves.

“Don’t you like the oud, Jared?” Genevieve wondered solicitously. “Samir is very talented. You might consider taking lessons from him, since the Sheikh enjoys the instrument immensely.”

“And am I only meant to please the Sheikh?” Jared snapped thoughtlessly.

Genevieve scrunched up her pretty forehead. “What else is there? Like the bird,” she pointed toward the heron, which shook its spindly legs in the water, “he is well taken care of and fed, not skinned and plucked as decoration for some foreign woman’s hat. He has an easy life and his only chore is to make us smile. How can that be terrible?”

“No matter how fine or delicate,” Jared countered, “he still wears a chain. How is that all right?”

Genevieve pursed her lips. But whatever she might has said in rebuttal disappeared as another person entered the courtyard. Like ripples in a pond, one after another turned their head in the newcomer’s direction including Genevieve and, grudgingly, Jared.

The man was quite handsome in Jared’s opinion, with sculpted cheeks and light eyes. His hair was the color of the coffee Ibrahim had served Jared a lifetime ago. Perhaps not as tall as he himself was – and few were – the man had a lithe body and carried himself with a grace Jared could only dream of. Unlike most of the others, the man wore clothing of a subdued nature – dark colors and a high collar. As he became aware of the looks he was garnering, he walked even straighter, seeming to grow with the esteem and envy thrown his way. And for one, brief, instant, the man locked eyes with Jared. They exchanged an indecipherable glance, before the man was surrounded by several of the concubines who had abandoned their seats by the pool.

“Come on,” Genevieve urged. “Let’s go.”

She sprang to her feet, the wet silk wrapping around her calves like vines, and pulled at Jared’s elbow. He resigned himself to letting her lead him around and rose carefully, the motion reminding him of the shameful device that had his groin locked up and he cast a brief look down to see if his shame was obvious. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or sad that it wasn’t and he wondered, briefly, if all of them were imprisoned like this, not trusted to be alone with their own bodies.

Trailing behind the petite woman, Jared stared studiously at his bare feet, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone else. Thankfully, Genevieve didn’t bring them too close to the crowd growing around the man, apparently content to loiter in the back.

“Is there something you don’t want us to see?” a man asked, pointing to the other man’s dark shirt. Matthew lowered his head almost demurely, but remained quiet.

At first, Jared didn’t understand why the others would care how the new arrival was or wasn’t dressed. Instantly, he worried that the other man might be hurt somehow. Had he been punished for some infraction? Would the guards have done something to him?

“As-tu couché avec lui?” a raven-haired girl demanded without preamble. “Dîtes-moi, Matthew!” The girl poked the man – Matthew – hard on his shoulder.

Matthew laughed, rich and sure. “Qu'est-ce que tu penses, Fannah?" And he fingered the buttons of his high collar none too discreetly.

“It wasn’t supposed to be your turn yet,” the first man grumbled and suddenly it all became abundantly clear to Jared.

“I cannot refuse the Sheikh and he…needed me last night.” Matthew’s smile grew at the other man’s grousing. Jared stopped paying attention to the rest of the exchange.

Matthew had spent the night with Jensen. Jensen had been with this man while Jared had been…had been violated at Jensen’s command. Jared twisted his head to the side and watched Samir, from his seat on the carpet, begin to pick at his oud again. For a minute or more, Jared’s mind drifted. He gazed, unseeing, at the pool while the heron – or was it an egret? – shimmied its slender legs as it hunted. Sunlight winked back at Jared from the small ripples the bird’s movements created. The flashing lights hurt his eyes and turned his stomach more.

Suddenly, the bird, who had grown almost statue-like, snapped its head forward into the water before resurfacing almost immediately with a wriggling fish trapped crosswise in its narrow beak. Jared watched the fat fish flop helplessly until the bird tilted its head back and flipped the whole creature into its maw. With sickening fascination, Jared saw the lump that was the fish slowly works its way down the slender length of the avian’s neck to disappear into its body. The music seemed to grow louder and more severe.

“ – and I suppose we’ll know in a few months” he heard Matthew say, turning in time to see the man pat his stomach in almost the same fashion Genevieve had done to hers earlier. The others murmured and speculated, while Matthew seemed inordinately pleased with himself. Jared absentmindedly noticed from his peripheral vision that Genevieve cast a glance in his direction. The bird caught another plump victim and the oud plinked louder.

_See what in a few months? Oh. Matthew was a carrier and he might…might be…_

Jared couldn’t even bring himself to finish the thought. Clapping a hand to his mouth, Jared stumbled away, not caring who noticed or who might follow him. He needed to get away.

Walking quickly, he gave the crowd of concubines a wide berth and headed for the keyhole entrance to the courtyard. He was unaware of the few stares that followed his awkward exit and wouldn’t have cared if he had. Swallowing back something foul, he was certain he couldn’t breathe right. He fumbled with the drapes, pawing at them to find the opening and flung himself out when he did. Once the drapes swished closed behind him, he slipped his hand down from his mouth to rest against his churning stomach. But when he caught sight of his hand against his torso in a position so reminiscent of Genevieve and Matthew’s gestures, he slapped it back over his mouth and began to walk rapidly down the hallway, barely watching where he was going.

He moved quickly, turning down a walkway, everything a blur as he rushed by, the only sound the slap of his bare feet on the polished floor. However, as he passed the strange garden of the Valide, with its overripe odors, he couldn’t hold back any longer. Falling to his knees, he bent over and vomited on the ground. Once his stomach was empty, he was mortified at the mess before him. He wondered how he would clean it up and then berated himself for thinking like this was all somehow his fault. He pushed himself to his feet, savagely wiped at his mouth and walked away. Let someone else deal with it. None of this was his choosing. None of this was his fault.

His righteous anger carried him s far as the next turn before he started to regret his thoughts and actions. While none of this was his doing, the one who was responsible wouldn’t be the one who had to clean up after him. More than likely, someone who had about as much say in his fate as Jared currently did would be relegated to the odious task, so he turned around, not sure how he would do it, but determined to clean up after himself. He needn’t have bothered.

Someone, Jared couldn’t see who, knelt near where he had been sick with a rag in one hand and a bucket nearby. Behind them, a eunuch stood, arms crossed and stared directly at him. Jared spotted another guard not far off on the other side of the overgrown garden, also watching him. The young Englishman shivered before he backed away. He had, in his mad dash, mistakenly thought he was alone, but now saw how foolish a notion that was. There seemed to always be eyes on him, no matter where he turned. With less fervor that a moment ago, he continued on his flight, which eventually returned him to his room, a place where he hoped he might find a moment’s respite. How he had managed the three flights of stairs in his state was a mystery to him, but, soon enough, he was at the portal to his chamber.

When he closed the door firmly behind himself, he meant to lock it or throw a bolt across to secure his privacy, but was dismayed to find neither existed. There was nothing, short of dragging his small bed across the threshold, which would have barred the entrance. The room wasn’t designed for his seclusion and comfort. He couldn’t lock himself away because he was already locked away. The entire place was his prison. Dropping wearily onto his bed, he saw that the tray from breakfast was gone, as well as the pants he had slept in, if how he had passed the night could be referred to as sleep. Someone, probably Assaf, had come and gone in his absence. Turning to the only other piece of furniture in the room, he spotted a new addition that rested on the table – a small timepiece. It was a quarter past noon. He flopped backwards onto the bed, suddenly weary beyond words and closed his eyes.

The next thing he was aware of was someone shaking his shoulder gently. He bolted upright, panicked gasping and wondering where in the world he was.. Assaf stepped away from the bed, hands held up and away, perhaps to prove that he was no threat. Jared winced as his sudden movement had tugged on his sore chest. “What is it?” he rasped, trying to orientate himself, grabbing fistfuls of sweat-soaked sheets in his shaking hands. The last thing Jared remembered was stretching out on the bed. He had no recollection of slipping off into slumber, which, apparently, he had. He suspected the lingering remnants of the opiates he had taken the night before were to blame.

“The First Kadin has requested that you join her for tea,” Assaf offered as explanation for his presence.

Jared blinked his eyes several times. “I suppose I can’t simply refuse, can I?” he croaked, voice harsh from sleep. Assaf merely shook his head in the negative and took another step backwards, standing just to the side of the now open door. Jared dragged his hands through his hair and glanced at the clock. It was nearly four in the afternoon. He’d slept for almost four hours, which meant he had wasted all that time. He shouldn’t have lain down. Instead, he should have been studying the habits of the guards and other slaves, to see what patterns and schedules they kept around the dormitories. But there was no use in berating himself now. What was lost was lost.

“Very well,” he agreed, subdued. Seeing that Assaf had no new bundle of clothes for him, he would go as he was. Why should he worry what the First Kadin thought of him any more than he should worry what the other members of the harem did? What could it matter?

He allowed Assaf to lead the way. Out of ingrained habit, he closed the door behind him, even though it made no difference. Whoever wanted to come in could do so if they pleased, regardless of his desires. _It’s not my room_ , he assured himself. _No need to fret. It’s not permanent._

And yet, even as he swore that none of it mattered, he still asked Assaf to stop by the water closet so he could make use of it. While in there, he dabbed cool water on his face and rinsed out his mouth, but continued to refuse to meet his own reflection.

They made their way down the steps and along the corridors on the path that was starting to grow familiar. Jared reminded himself that it was good he was getting a sense of direction, gaining confidence in deciphering the twists and turns in the marble and sandstone labyrinth. He would need that skill soon enough as he found a way to escape. He refrained from talking and Assaf seemed unusually quiet as well. Jared idly wondered if the odalik had heard about his hasty retreat a few hours ago and then decided it held no significance if he had or hadn’t. When the silent duo neared the heady garden of the Valide, Assaf directed him not along the walkway toward the courtyard for the concubines as he had gone before, but to the left, where they skirted along the perimeter of thick foliage. Jared was briefly embarrassed as they passed the spot where he had been sick, but there was no sign of his earlier moment of weakness. Not a trace remained.

When they reached the far side, the other man led Jared to a set of stairs partially obscured by the shadows of the second story. Following dutifully behind Assaf, mindful of the narrow steps, Jared turned to look quickly back over his shoulder. Sure enough, a eunuch now stood at the foot of the stairs, staring blankly toward the garden. Jared faced forward again, only a few steps from the top. The landing beyond wasn’t very big, with perhaps enough room to hold a handful of people, and there was a set of double doors at the end. Assaf opened them both and waved Jared inside.

The room he stepped into was fairly spacious, with a veranda that overlooked the garden. The walls had a variety of tapestry hanging from them, and silken cushions stacked about the corners. Other than that, there was little furniture to speak of. Jared furrowed his brow in confusion. “I thought you said these were the apartments of the Valide,” he finally relented and asked the odalik.

Assaf frowned in return. “They are.” And he offered no further explanation.

“But I was under the impression I was to meet with the Fir –”

“In here,” a firm yet decidedly feminine voice chimed in.

Assaf escorted Jared through the receiving room into a slightly smaller, but much more decorated chamber. It was, however, not what he had expected in the least. Unlike the previous room, unlike so much of what he had seen since he’d been brought here by force, the furnishings were familiar – settees, fainting couches, wingback chairs and a linen-covered table tucked into a corner. Gone from the walls were the ubiquitous, woven hangings. Instead, they were covered with a variety of gilt-framed paintings. Scenes of fantastical images, some religious, some sacrilegious – to hear his father describe the subject – were staggered throughout the room. One in particular, of a woman draped in black, with others huddled behind her, while strange beasts surrounded them, caught his eye.

“That’s _The Triple Hecate_ ,” a woman said from somewhere behind him.

Still studying the piece, Jared replied, “William Blake?”

“You have an excellent eye,” Jared heard and finally realized he’d been both rude and oblivious. He turned to face the other person and she startled him as much as the room had.

Unlike the women of the harem, with their slinky, wisps of material barely concealing their bodies, the woman before him was outfitted in a proper dress, complete with long sleeves, fitted, corset-like waist and hoop skirt. The changeant silk shifted hues in the late afternoon sunlight, flashing from deep emerald to shimmering lime, and matched nothing so much as her eyes. Her long red hair was uncovered and pulled back in a flattering style, with a few, large, serpentine curls resting against her pale décolletage. She wasn’t much shorter than he was and her painted red lips quirked in amused regard as she tilted her head to one side.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I-I,” Jared stammered. “Forgive me,” he finally managed.

She laughed and the sound was filled with warmth. “It’s quite all right. Assaf, please tell the others to ready the tea and you can go.”

Assaf appeared to hesitate for the briefest of moments, shifting from one foot to the other, before he bowed deeply and left the room from yet another door, cleverly concealed as a trompe-l'œil painting of a bookcase.

“Are you the Valide?” Jared asked, finally, simply to break the silent awkwardness.

The woman’s composure faltered for an instant, before she smiled more broadly.

“You certainly are learning quickly. I am Alaina.” She offered him her slim, milky hand.

Jared bent over and pressed his lips there fleetingly, before straightening again. “Jared Padalecki.”

“And I see you have an appreciation for Blake.” She glided over to his left side and indicated the painting. “So few do, although they should.”

“I – yes,” he stuttered as he also faced the work.

“What appeals to you here?”

“The deep tones he chose to paint with, the bold shapes,” Jared continued, getting caught up in the piece. “And the subject matter, of course.”

“Blake often borrowed inspiration from Michelangelo,” Alaina agreed. She let her narrow finger, with its buffed nail, hover over and around the central figure. “I think you would agree his influence is fairly obvious here.”

“And _Macbeth_ was going through a bit of a revival when Blake did much of his creating. Here could be a nod to that Hecate and the three witches,” Jared added, “since their chants mentioned owls, snakes and bats.” And he, in turn, pointed to those creatures pictured alongside Hecate.

Alaina turned an appraising eye on him. “Very good, Mr. Padalecki. I shall have to hunt up my copy of _Europe a Prophesy_ and see what you make of it.”

Jared couldn’t help the thrill that raced through him at that. Blake’s _Europe_ was the last thing the artist published before his death and Jared would give most anything to see his plates and read the man’s poetry, barred from his father’s household as too eccentric and fanciful, but he had no plans or desires to remain within the palace one moment longer than necessary. He tried to think of a proper response to the lady when he was saved by the arrival of several slaves bearing trays. When they were done placing all the items on the linen covered table, they departed as silently as they had entered. Jared’s eyes grew as wide as saucers as he watched what the servants had brought them. He practically gawked at the spread.

A silver, tiered stand held several plates full of tiny sandwiches that, from where Jared was standing, appeared to be cucumber and watercress. Along with them, there were piles of scones, pots of clotted cream and jam, biscuits, smoked fish and a tiny assortment of cakes and pastries. The table itself was adorned with sterling silver and bone china finer than what Captain Omundson had onboard the _Northfleet_. Off to one side, a fat pot of what could only be tea – black tea with a hint of bergamot if his nose hadn’t lied – steeped merrily. And that wasn’t the end of it. Jared had no idea how all of it was possible.

“Please, have a seat,” Alaina indicated one of the mahogany chairs, with its buttoned, leather upholstery and scrolled arms while she chose one without arms to accommodate her voluminous skirt. Shuffling closer, suddenly painfully reminded of how he was barefoot and dressed like someone’s poor relation, Jared was awkward and uncertain. He seated himself and was immediately reminded of home, of all the things he desperately longed for and missed.

 “I’ve been so looking forward to this,” Alaina slowly grinned. “Shall I pour?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image of _The Triple Hecate_ by William Blake is in the public domain.


	15. Chapter 15

_ _

 

“Shall I?” Alaina inquired again, poised over the teapot, the perfect picture of normality in a world turned upside down.

Jared didn’t trust himself to speak, so he jerked his head briefly in what he hoped signified agreement. Pairing that with how poorly he was dressed, he was certain he must have appeared a buffoon to his hostess. Carefully picking up the pristine, linen napkin he laid it – folded in half as etiquette dictated – across his lap, eager to cover any sign of what he wore underneath his loose pants. He was still trying to process the sight that lay before him and was operating on rote habit alone for his high tea manners. The scene of English pomp and circumstance within these walls was like a phantasmagoria – strange theatre played out with smoke and shadows.

“Do you prefer it weak or strong?” Alaina asked as she lifted up Jared’s cup and saucer with her left hand.

He absently admired the row of pearl buttons that lined up, like neat, little soldiers, along the tight sleeve covering her slender forearm and momentarily thought back to his earlier nausea. “Weak, I think, would be best.”

Alaina hummed as she filled his cup halfway full with the familiar, earthy smelling brew before exchanging the teapot for a pitcher of hot water. “With milk, sugar or lemon?”

“Milk and sugar,” he answered, flummoxed by the odd turn of events. This civility, for lack of a better word, was certainly not how he had envisioned his meeting with the First Kadin at all. And she herself was most…unexpected.

After pouring in a measure of water to cut the strength of the tea, Alaina selected a tiny jug and added several splashes of milk – camel perhaps? – to the delicate cup. She then picked up a set of silver tongs and carefully selected a cube from the sugar bowl. “I do so adore sugar this way. I have it imported from a little company in Dačice. So much simpler than using those brutish sugar nips to cut the loaves. Those things look like pincers someone might have kept in a mediaeval dungeon, torturing some hapless soul accused of practicing witchcraft.” She shuddered, before continuing on sweetly, “Don’t you agree, Mr. Padalecki?”

He nodded dumbly as he accepted the cup and saucer, setting it beside what must have been his plate on the table. The image of someone being tormented by red-hot pincers was a disturbing one, at odds with the floral-patterned dishes and bouquet on the table, but he supposed it matched the theme of Alaina’s art collection – dark and macabre, like the engraving of Fuseli’s _The Nightmare_ that hung above her settee.

“Do help yourself to the savones,” she gestured to the second plate on the tier, where the tiny tea sandwiches were arranged in a small pyramid. “I know I should have provided something heartier for high tea, but after your illness this morning, I thought it better to stay with lighter fare.”

Blood rushed to his cheeks as Jared realized that Alaina must have seen him vomit by the garden below. Of course she could have, considering her terraces overlooked that particular plot of greenery, but he thought no one had observed him while he was sick. He thought he'd been alone in the moment and someone only discovered it after the fact. Still, he felt his face heat with mortification.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he offered lamely.

“I keep track of my garden,” she answered dismissively. “Besides, it is all taken care of now, like it never happened.” She forked a paper-thin lemon slice into her own cup and set it down before grabbing her dress below the hips, lifting it and backing down onto her seat before fluffing the skirt out, making sure nothing was amiss. “I hope you enjoy the savones.”

Jared took the unspoken command for what it was and nibbled experimentally on the tiny sandwich. The sweet taste of cool cucumber was balanced by the spicy bite of the watercress. Jared had no idea how the produce had found its way here, as out of place as he was, as out of place as she was. Some of what he was thinking must have been plainly evident, because Alaina laughed softly.

“You seem so surprised, Mr. Padalecki. Didn’t expect to find a literal taste of home here, did you?” And she smiled benignly. But there was something about her ready smile that made Jared uneasy, almost as though she were laughing at him, instead of with him. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had, so he had developed a sense for that.

He set the half-eaten portion of food down and dabbed at his mouth with the white linen. “No, madam, I honestly didn’t.”

“Please, don’t ‘madam’ me. I’m not that ancient, am I?” And she picked up a small fan, snapped it open with a practiced flip of her wrist and began to wave it furiously before herself. Her red curls fluttered in the breeze she conjured up. Strangely, Jared didn’t find it warm in the room at all, but oddly chilled.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jared stammered, but it came out more of a question than an apology. The woman did look youthful enough, but Jared chided himself mentally. Judging a person’s age, especially a lady’s, was never his strong suit. He was sure she was older than him, perhaps even older than Jensen, but was beautiful regardless of her age. He thought the title bestowed the proper respect to his hostess and wasn’t meant to imply anything more, but he’d apparently misspoken once again. And he was desperate to have an ally in all of this. “I simply meant –”

Placing the fan aside, Alaina reached across the table and caught one of Jared’s flailing hands. “It’s all right, my dear. I’m the one who should apologize.” She patted him consolingly, gliding her cool fingers against the back of his hand. “Here I am, acting vain and wounded when you are so obviously the injured party.”

Jared took in a deep breath and then let it out shakily. Now was the opportunity to plead his case to someone who might actually listen and help. He closed his eyes monetarily and composed himself. When he opened them again, he fixed Alaina with his most sincere expression.

“Miss –” he began, only to be interrupted.

“Please call me Alaina.”

“Of-of course. Aliana,” he started again and caught himself. There was no point in making some grand statement, so he led with his heart. “Please help me.”

Alaina stretched across the table and clasped his other hand. “My dear boy,” she only said, before falling silent.

“I need to leave this place. There’s a ship waiting for me in Doheh, but I know it won’t tarry much longer,” he let slip out. “Please let me go. Please.”

She squeezed his hands and looked genuinely distressed. “You have no idea how much I wish I could, but I’m a prisoner here the same as you are.”

Eyes darting about the chamber, Jared regarded all the furniture and trappings that practically screamed “home” to him. “But,” he freed a hand and waved helplessly at the room and then the table, “you have all of this. Surely you have some say in your fate. How is this prison?”

“Oh, Jared.” And then she caught herself, raising her fingers to her rouged lips. “Forgive my familiarity. May I call you Jared?” She continued on without waiting for any confirmation. “My cage might be a gilded one, but it is still a cage. What you see here I earned over the years from the last sheikh.”

“Jensen’s father?” Jared whispered.

She nodded solemnly, although her eyes widened imperceptibly at his ready use of Jensen’s given name. “He bought me when I was only fifteen, Jared. I was forced to grow up in the harem. For almost nineteen years, I did everything that man asked of me…and he didn’t always ask. Sometimes he just took.” With that admission, Alaina lowered her eyes demurely. She removed her other hand from Jared’s to fish out a bit of lace from her waistband and blot at her eyes. Jared swallowed with some difficulty at all that her words implied.

“I have a son,” she continued, not meeting his gaze. “You will never understand what it is like to have to carry a child whose existence you never had any say in.” She folded the scrap of lace into a triangle and used the point to reach delicately under her darkened lashes, catching the few tears before they could muss her makeup. “Of course, I love my son, but you’ll never grasp what it was like for me to have to carry him…” she trailed off, shaking her head back and forth, her curls twisting and writhing as she did so. “Unless,” she eventually gasped, dropping her hands into her lap. “Oh, my dear, unless you are a carrier, too.”

Jared was so shocked by her revelations that it took several seconds before he noticed Alaina was looking at him expectantly. Shifting his eyes from side to side, he tried to recollect what question she must have asked him, given the serious way she was studying his face. All he could think about, however, was how a person would feel to be carrying a baby that had been forced upon them. How it would feel to have life growing inside that one had not wished or planned for. To be used like a brood mare. Unconsciously, his hand slipped up against his abdomen and he left it there.

“Are you?” Alaina asked again. “Are you a carrier, Jared?”

He met her gaze and saw the honest concern and worry written all over her face. At least in this, he could put her mind at ease. “No. No, I’m not,” he repeated more firmly and watched as the woman opposite him breathed a sigh of relief, the tense set of her slim shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“Oh, thank goodness.” She extended a hand across the table and clasped his left, which was balled into a fist where it rested beside his teacup. “At least, you won’t have to suffer through _that_.”

Jared tried very hard not to imagine all the things that he _would_ have to suffer through, as if what had happened so far wasn't enough. “Are you sure,” he croaked, “that there’s no way you could help me? Perhaps plead my case to Jensen? Something? I shouldn’t be here. It’s not right.”

Alaina removed her hand from Jared’s to fuss with her lacy handkerchief. “I could try,” she admitted and Jared sat up straighter in expectation, “but it wouldn’t do any good.” He deflated just as quickly. “You have to understand. No laws here have been broken by what he’s done.”

“There is no reason to –” he started.

She held up a hand to forestall further argument. “He doesn’t listen much to reason these days.” She tucked the square of lace back into her waistband and raised her cup to sip at it thoughtfully, taking a moment to savor the flavor. “I was making some advances with his father, you know. After years of my careful arguments and entreaties, he was actually considering changing some of the rules of the harem.”

Jared listened halfheartedly, not even aware his hostess’s tears had miraculously dried up.

Setting the cup back down with a quiet clack of china against china, Alaina studied the tiered stand before selecting a particular sandwich. “Like this,” she indicated the food. “For the longest time, the gardens below were a mere shadow of what they are today, mostly filled with the plants that grew here naturally.” She paused to take a small bite of the cucumber and watercress, beaming delightedly at the taste. “But after enough time passed, during which I badgered him for some small favors after giving him his second son, he allowed me a free hand to raze the old gardens and grow what I wanted.” She gave Jared a glance that clearly indicated he should make the connection between that bit of information and what they were eating.

He obliged. “So you grow all of this.” His gesture included not only the food, but the exotic, floral arrangement that served as the centerpiece of the table. A round, goblet-like vase was stuffed full of bone-white flowers tinged with lavender that were curled up like pocket squares, surrounded by lush, deep-green leaves.

Alaina beamed. “And so much more, Jared. I grow all manner of things in my garden. You would be amazed at what can flourish here given the proper cultivation. Perhaps, one day, I’ll show you.”

He murmured some type of acknowledgement. Alaina frowned briefly, before smoothing her brow. “As I was saying, I was making some headway with him, convincing him that those who hadn’t borne him any offspring should be released and resettled elsewhere if they wanted to leave. I am certain he was growing amenable to the notion. It wouldn’t have meant my freedom, of course, but I was content to know I could help some of the others,” she finished magnanimously. “Unfortunately, he died before anything became official. That his untimely death forced Jensen’s abrupt return.”

Jared nodded, eyes glazed.

_“He’s gone, Jared,” James told him._

_“Gone? Gone where?” he demanded frantically, spinning around the empty guest room uncomprehendingly. The wardrobe doors were open, but nothing was inside any longer. There were no signs of Jensen or his belongings._

_“Early this morning, he received word of his father’s death and he was packed and gone before I even had a chance to speak with him,” James explained. “I’m so sorry, little brother.”_

_Jared stood there, slack-jawed. “But-but, he doesn’t know.” Jared lunged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his brother’s shirt. “He doesn’t know!” He was certain his heart was beating right out of his chest and he couldn’t breathe properly. Was this what dying felt like?_

_James tried to pull him into a hug, but Jared twisted away. “We have to go after him. Right now!”_

_“Jared,” James tried again, partially succeeding as he yanked Jared close, “there’s no way Father would let either of us leave right now. And,” he paused, “there’s already a ship waiting for him when he reaches London. Even if we could go this instant, there is no way we could overtake him in time.”_

_“No,” Jared mumbled, collapsing against his brother’s chest. “He doesn’t know,” he whispered harshly. “He left and he doesn’t know.”_

_James hugged him tighter. “I am so, so sorry.”_

“He wasn’t the same man when he returned,” Alaina continued, “of that, I was quite certain. I’m sure some of that was due to surprise and loss, but there was something else not the same. I simply couldn’t put my finger on it precisely, but Jensen was harder, colder,” she added thoughtfully, tapping a nail against the gold rim of her cup.

“There was no reasoning with him then. I tried, of course.” And Alaina smiled at him again. “I used every device at my disposal to try and persuade him, if you gather my meaning.”

Something twisted inside Jared at her declaration, the idea of her offering whatever she could – perhaps even her body – to reason with Jensen all because Jared had irreparably wounded the man. That Jared was at fault for undoing all her good works, undoing any progress she had made to improve the others’ lot in life. How many lives had he ruined at the end of the day?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered without meaning to say the words.

“Why should you apologize, Jared? What would you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, half lost in the shadowy past and half sick of it, very much like Tennyson’s Lady of Shallot.

Alaina rose quickly and stepped around the table in a swish of silk, the forest green morphing to shades of spring grass as she moved. Without hesitating, she cradled Jared’s unresisting head between her hands before pressing it against her breast, running fingers through his tangled mane with gentle care. Jared shuddered in her embrace, but left his arms hanging limply by his sides. Her touch, although not solicited, was the first in too many days he didn’t find abhorrent. And it was strangely familiar, the way her hand smoothed through his hair, nails grazing over the curve of his skull. Like something his mother might have done when he was younger, he decided at last. His hands twitched where they hung and he slowly raised them, unconsciously turning to wrap his arms about her waist. It was so tempting, the desire to unburden himself and accept the comfort offered. To share what weighed on him the most.

She curled over him and whispered near his ear. “You can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

Jared froze, arms stopped in mid-air. The words echoed strangely in his head and caused an impossible chill to trip down his spine like someone walking over his grave. He had no idea how, but Jared was certain he had heard those exact words before and that Alaina had been the one to voice them. But that was impossible. He had only just met her and yet…and yet he had heard that before, like some forgotten nightmare or dream. He stiffened in her hold, pulling away almost unwillingly. Jared glanced up quickly, but Alaina’s expression was unreadable. He tilted his head down and cleared his throat, trying to cover his sudden discomfort in her company.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated for a third time. “I did not mean to act so disgracefully in your presence. Not much of a gentleman, am I?” he tried to lighten the mood, tugging at his baggy shirt, hoping she would assume his changed demeanor was from embarrassment for his unmanly behavior and grant him some measure of space. His ruse appeared successful. Alaina reluctantly let go and returned to her seat.

“You men,” she tutted, apparently mollified that his emotional withdrawal was the result of his wounded pride, “always feeling like you have to put on a façade. I hope that with me, you will eventually feel like you can be completely comfortable, Jared. After all, we are comrades-in-arms in all of this.”

Jared looked about the room and considered his own briefly. Somehow, he found it hard to imagine that he and Alaina were equals. Then again, she had had to bear up under nineteen years of servitude of a most personal nature. He was certainly in no position to judge despite his growing unease. Perhaps his leash would lengthen, too, after a few years under Jensen’s rule, he thought bitterly, and his kennel would have finer trappings. Suddenly, the narrowing of his window of opportunity was overwhelming and at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps he should court Alaina’s favor while he had the chance. Who knew when he might be in her presence again? He had only one card left to play.

“You know my name,” he said.

Alaina sipped from her cup and nodded. “I know many things, Jared.”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “But are you familiar with my family name?”

The woman paused, her demeanor becoming more calculating. “Not firsthand, no. I can, however, surmise by your manners and deportment that you are from good stock. I’m sure Padalecki is a fine, upstanding family. I think I can guess where this is going.” She lowered her cup. “I can’t imagine Jensen demanding any ransom for you. That is simply not how things are done here.”

“Are you familiar with the Honorable East India Company?” he inquired evenly, although he was quivering inside. The last attempt he had made using his connection to the E.I.C. was what had landed him a prisoner. He had no guarantee his gambit wouldn’t explode spectacularly as well a second time around.

Alaina hollowed out her cheeks as she pursed her lips. “I am familiar with them,” she admitted.

“My father is one of their directors.”

They were both silent for a moment. Jared thought she might be moved to reconsider her refusal to help him once she understood the potential repercussions of keeping him against his will. It wasn’t as if he was simply from a well to do family of means. He was the son of a man who helped run a company that walked hand in hand with the British government, one that helped rule countries. He hoped it was enough to sway her. He held his breath in anticipation.

“The John Company,” the First Kadin finally said. Jared noted that she used its informal name. “Impressive.”

Jared tried not to smile, as something grew inside his chest. Something suspiciously like hope. He let out a shaky exhale.

She pushed her plate aside and placed both her hands on the table, brushing away crumbs that the young Englishman didn’t think existed. “Despite that affiliation, there is nothing I can do for you. And there is nothing the E.I.C. could possibly do for you, because they would never be able to find you here. Do you understand? I wish I could tell you differently, but I won’t lie to you, Jared. You can at least count on that,” she assured him fervently. “I promise I will do what I can to make things better for you, my dear, and keep a close watch over you.”

But all Jared could dwell on was that she would do nothing to help him escape. For a brief, fleeting moment, he had entertained the notion that she might be the voice of reason in this maelstrom, that she might be an answer to his prayers, but his hopes were dashed with the finality of her words. While the woman obviously still railed against the fate of the others within the seraglio, she had clearly given up on herself, on envisioning a life outside of these walls, on freedom. Somehow she had grown content and Jared vowed he would never plummet into the same pitfall. Jensen might have trapped his body, but he would never have his mind. If there was no one who could help him, he would help himself. He was no damsel in distress, after all.

Desperately trying to compose himself, Jared swallowed with some difficulty and looked her straight in the face. “I think I would like to go back to my room now, if I may?” He couldn’t read what was going on behind her blue-green eyes, but didn’t concern himself over it. he had other matters to worry about.

“Are you sure? There are still some scones we could enjoy, not to mention a sorbet that I believe you will find very refreshing. Ice is brought over in burlap sacks from the mountains of –”

“I’ve quite lost my appetite. Perhaps it is some lingering malaise from this morning and I would rather not embarrass myself in your presence a second time,” he told her, interrupting her menu dissertation. “Please grant me that dignity, since I am afforded so few here.” And he dropped his head to indicate his attire.

She regarded him closely before acquiescing. “Of course. Assaf,” she called out brusquely.

Not a minute later, Assaf opened the painted door and reappeared by her side, slightly bowed. “Please escort Jared back to his room,” she told him before adding something softly in Arabic while eyeing Jared up and down. Assaf bowed and walked over to stand slightly behind Jared’s chair.

Jared didn’t wait for another sign. He folded and replaced his linen on the table and pushed back his chair. Rising was only somewhat mortifying as he counted on the fact that his loose pants hid the humiliating device locked around his groin. Although, he told himself, she probably was wearing something as well and then dismissed the thought outright because he didn’t want to be contemplating this woman’s chastity. When he raised his head, he saw that she was staring at his waist. She blinked, slowly, and when her eyes reopened, she trailed her gaze up his torso, smirking ruby lips when she met his stare. Jared shivered and felt more exposed than he had in the hammam.

“I look forward to chatting with you again, Jared. Perhaps next time, I will have found that book by Blake for you to examine.”

Jared smiled and bowed slightly. “I would enjoy the opportunity to see it.”

 _I will be gone long before you have a chance to search for it,_ he decided.

“Thank you for tea,” he added and she snapped her head once towards Assaf, which was the cue the man had been waiting for.

“Follow me,” he instructed Jared and proceeded to leave the way they had both arrived. When Jared was almost to the door, he turned to peer over his shoulder, but the First Kadin was gone, more than likely having departed via the same door Assaf had appeared from, like she had never been there at all. Other slaves were already busy clearing the uneaten food away. Jared idly hoped someone would be able to enjoy it, hating the idea that it might be wasted.

The walk back to his room was as quiet as the one had been to the Kadin’s apartments. As soon as they descended the stairs, Jared was reminded of the extreme heat as it sunk into his bones once more. Surprisingly, he welcomed its return. The chambers above had been cool and while he should have found it refreshing, it had only served to leave him on edge. One more unexpected thing in a growing list of unpleasant turns in his life; that somehow any reminder of the desert was more comforting than the trappings of home.

As they made their way back to the dormitory of the concubines, the sole sound to accompany the two men was the rhythmic slap of Jared’s bare feet. It was oddly silent, as if no one was about. The only people he saw were the eunuchs, with one visible in every hallway and courtyard they passed through, although they remained as still as stone statues, swords at the ready. There was no one else. However, as the light turned to molten gold, heralding the impending sunset, Jared wondered if the others were taking their meals somewhere together, perhaps in the courtyard with the pool or some communal dining room. He didn’t know and he needed to understand what time table the others and he, by default, were on.

“Are the others sharing a meal?” Jared finally asked Assaf as they climbed the stairs to his room.

 _Prison_ , he corrected himself, _not room_.

“Some may be. There is no one place to eat, if that’s what you are curious about. One of us,” he placed a hand to his chest, “will bring you food wherever you care to eat.”

So all the others could be scattered anywhere at the moment, Jared reckoned. That fact only reinforced the notion that his best time to slip away would be after nightfall. He believed they eventually had to sleep and he assumed it would be in their rooms. Dangerous to make assumptions, but he did not have the luxury of time. Assumptions were all that he had.

“I think most of the others are in the receiving hall this evening,” Assaf offered, as they arrived at Jared’s floor. “That is the large chamber you would have first passed through on the way to the hammam.”

 _He says that as if I had a choice_ , Jared sneered. _As if I had taken a guided stroll through the palace at my leisure_.

“Is that where most everyone passes their evenings?” is what he said aloud instead.

“A few always do. This evening is different.”

“Different?” Jared wondered. Different was not good for his plans. He wanted routine. He needed predictable.

“The Sheikh is holding audience there this evening, which is why they are all there waiting. He might choose someone for the night, which is most unusual. But many things are different since you arrived,” the odalik admitted.

Jared tried not to envision the other concubines, laughing and vying for Jensen’s attention, or Jensen on his covered divan eyeing the market of flesh parading and preening before him. When they stopped at the door to his room, Jared found the courage to ask, “And I was not expected to be there?”

“The First Kadin anticipated you to be with her this evening, so she refused the Sheikh’s request for you on your behalf,” he replied somewhat stiffly.

“She can do that?” Jared believed that they all had to answer to Jensen.

“She has some…latitude. I believe that is the correct word.” And he looked to Jared for confirmation.

“I believe it is,” he agreed, although the information confused him. “And she can refuse him herself? Is that something a Kadin can do?”

“Not normally, but she is not the Sheikh’s Kadin. This is an odd time for us as the Sheikh assumes the duties and place of the old sheikh,” Assaf replied, “and matters are unsettled.” He hurried to open the door for Jared, making it clear that he was uncomfortable with the subject.

“Well, Jensen isn’t the only one having an ‘odd time’,” Jared spat and was almost immediately overcome with remorse. His predicament was not Assaf’s fault. “Thank you,” he added, acknowledging the open door and entered the chamber. Assaf lingered in the threshold, but did not enter the room. Jared wondered if the odalik was trying to give him the impression that there were boundaries and lines he wouldn’t cross any longer without permission.

“Would you like anything more to eat tonight?” he asked.

“No, I’ve had all I can stomach today,” Jared answered truthfully. He didn’t want anyone coming back to check on him later.

“There is fresh water for you for the night,” the odalik pointed to the small table, “and salt water for you to clean your…” and he brushed against his chest as an example.

Jared grimaced at the shameful reminder when he saw a pair of bowls, like he had used in the morning, alongside a glass carafe and an earthenware jug on the small table against the wall. But he was surprised and suddenly very grateful to also spot a simple pair of sandals beneath it.

“I will have fresh clothes for you in the morning, along with your breakfast. They are not the best fit for your feet,” he acknowledged the shoes, “but they are the best I could find for now.” And then Assaf bid him a good evening before he shut the door behind him.

It took Jared several moments to grasp the fact that he was ostensibly alone for the first time in days. It was an odd feeling, to say the least. Almost disquieting. But he wouldn’t waste the opportunity. He walked over to the table, ignoring the water, and bent over to retrieve the sandals. Flipping them over in his hands, he saw that they were simply made, with a thin sole and two leather straps that crisscrossed each other and a third that formed a simple loop at the top corner to anchor his big toe in place. He sat on his bed, aware that the sheet had been changed since the morning, and slipped the sandals on. They were thin, and the sole didn’t quite fit, but they were shoes and offered the bottoms of his feet a modicum of protection. Shockingly, as he sat there and flexed his feet, his eyes began to prick and burn with unshed tears.

“Over a pair of shoes,” he mumbled, rubbing angrily at his face. But the return of something that he had always taken for granted had affected him a great deal. And it was also what solidified his plans. He wouldn’t wait another day to make his escape attempt. If his emotional outburst over a pair of flimsy sandals was what happened to him after a few days, who knew how he might behave after a week or, God forbid, a month in this place? He would leave tonight.

Growing bolder now that he had made a decision and had taken some control back in his life, he grabbed the jug of salt water and bowls. As much as he detested the rings, Jared acknowledged that he couldn’t afford an infection. He would care for the piercings and once he was back in England, he would have his brother remove them safely. Even more detestable, the chastity device would remain in place as well until he could get back to his brother. He wouldn’t trust anyone else with his care or his disgrace. Wincing at the sting, he cleaned each one as Assaf had instructed, doing his best not to look at them directly. It was childish, he knew, like a babe covering his eyes to make an unpleasant reality disappear, but it was how he was coping.

He promptly left the container and the used crockery outside his door, so no one would have a reason to disturb him later in the evening. And he took that moment to study the dormitory as discreetly as possible. There was one guard, as far as he could see, and the man stayed on the ground floor, methodically patrolling the perimeter of the simple courtyard. The only time Jared was hidden from his view was when the man passed under Jared’s side of the dormitory. Fussing with the dishes, Jared used the excuse to count how long the man was gone from sight.

 _Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty_ , Jared said to himself.

He would have ducked back into his room when he spotted the eunuch again, but he noticed the man never once glanced up. Jared wasn’t sure if that was because the man knew most of the concubines were with the sheikh, or if it was because the only way down and out of the dormitories was the single staircase on the far side. Jared hoped it was the latter, as he passed a hand against the metal railing and grinned.

He went back in, shutting the door softly behind him, taking stock of the meager supplies at hand. He knew water was the most important item, but there was no way he could take the carafe or jug with him. They were both too big, and in the case of the carafe, too fragile to carry far. So he made sure, over the next several hours, to drink as much water as he could comfortably manage. He suspected that, like Doheh, there would be a few wells scattered throughout the town and he could probably steal a container from one of them to take with him. When he had met up with Ibrahim’s family, he had noticed a variety of jugs and cups by the well that the men did not pack up and take with them, so he rightly guessed they were for communal use. He would find something. He just needed to get out.

Jared finally blew out the lamp and forced himself to recline on his bed as if asleep. The moon was not yet full, but there was enough light from the open courtyard that he was able to see more than one shape linger by his latticed window, studying him in the gloom as the evening faded into darkness. Jensen must have made his choice and the others were returning to their rooms as Jared had hoped. But as each shadow hovered by his window, apparently still curious over the harem’s new addition, he pondered if this was how the animals kept at the Gardens and Menagerie of the Zoological Society of London felt – trapped, frightened and violated. He vowed to never visit there again.

Finally, _finally_ , the parade of gawkers drew to an end. Jared couldn’t make out the time on the clock, but he believed it to be close to midnight by the time he was confident no one would perform a bed check of any kind. He sat up slowly, unwilling to risk the squeak or creak of the mattress, even though the sounds shouldn’t have been unusual. Others, he reasoned, must surely thrash about at night or leave their room to use the water closet. Even still, he kept his movements stealthy.

He carefully stripped the single sheet from his bed. He planned to use it as a protection from the sun unless he was able to purloin someone’s wash as he fled from the town, or as an improvised rope, if it turned out he needed it. Twisting it tightly into a long strip, he looped the sheet about his waist several times before tying it tight. He then slipped his sandals into the makeshift belt. On cat’s paws, he slinked over to the door and opened it ever so slowly, wincing once when an unforgiving hinge let out a soft screech of metal. He froze, heart pounding against his ribs, but there was no thumping of feet pounding up the stairs and he reminded himself again that the others must certainly need to relieve themselves during the night. Waiting a full minute, Jared finally opened the door wide enough so that he could slip through. From where he stood, he couldn’t see down to the bottom of the courtyard, but neither could someone see him. Although he was loath to do it, he closed the door carefully behind him. He reckoned, in the end, an open door might lead to a quicker discovery than a noisy hinge.

Counting on his dark clothing to provide some cover, he moved closer to the railing, holding his breath when he saw the guard make his rounds of the courtyard. Like before, the man didn’t spare a look upwards, but paced methodically around the open square. Closing his eyes, Jared steeled himself. It was now or never. When he opened them again, the guard was almost out of sight.

 _One, two three_ , he began to count off in his head.

Gripping the nearest support post, he heaved himself up to stand on the narrow, strip of metal, wrapping his bare toes around the handrail as best he could. He gave himself three counts to find his balance before he slid his right hand along the post and up the side of the building that faced the courtyard to search out a handhold of any kind.

 _Eleven, twelve, thirteen_.

Some sort of carved out decoration gave Jared what he was looking for. He locked his hand onto it and swung his torso out so that he was leaning mostly towards the courtyard below. As certain of the grip of his hand and feet as he ever was going to be, he flung out his left hand and desperately slapped it about in search of something similar to grab onto.

_Eighteen, nineteen, twenty._

Heart in his throat, Jared almost gave up until his fingers brushed against the rough edges of what was probably a crack in the plaster façade. But it was more than enough for him to wedge his fingers into and hang on hard. He twisted himself so that he was once again facing his room. Letting his held fall back, he estimated that the roof was only a foot above him. Straining, he slowly raised himself up until he could see above it.

_Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight._

Making a lightning-fast decision, Jared yanked his left hand free and slapped it onto the rooftop. There was nothing for him to grab onto, so he pulled himself up as best he could, scrabbling for some kind of purchase. There was a moment of blind panic when his feet left the relative safety of the rail, but that was overshadowed by the intense pain in his chest as his straining movements tore at his piercings. When he had raised himself up enough to hook his elbows onto the rooftop, Jared pushed up and lifted his leg high enough to get his foot onto the handhold freed up from his right hand.

_Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four._

That move gave him the leverage he needed to get enough of his body onto the roof so that he could roll the rest of the way up and out of sight.

_Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty._

Flat on his back, chest heaving with exertion and fear, Jared had an unencumbered view of the stars overhead. Tiny, white dots – cold and sharp – peered down on him from the black, velvet sky. The only sound he heard was the thundering of his heartbeat. But he ignored both that and the throbbing in his chest to take a moment to exult in his immediate success.

_“I cannot believe you, Jared,” Jensen hissed as he accepted the outstretched hand._

_Jared was near giddy and grinning like a madman. “I’ve done this a hundred times before. Trust me.”_

_Helping Jensen manage the dormer window, the two of them climbed up until they reached the rail of the widow’s watch and hopped over. Jared flopped down onto his back and Jensen reluctantly joined him to stare up the vast expanse of the night sky spread above them._

_“Wasn’t it worth it?” Jared whispered, once he had caught his breath._

_“Yes, it was,” Jensen agreed and Jared didn’t need to be able to see him to know he was smiling._

Shaking himself out of the memory, and mindful of how his chest and groin ached from his efforts, Jared shifted onto his side and inched his way back over to the edge. As carefully as he could, he leaned over and studied the courtyard. And as certain as clockwork, the guard was once again in view. His pace was steady and sure and he didn’t look up. Jared had done it. He had done it.

Sliding out of sight, Jared sat up. He was dismayed to discover the rooftop was completely flat and he spotted nothing that he might be able to use to anchor the sheet to. Crawling over to the opposite side, he snuck a look down below. There wasn’t a guard in sight and as Jared’s eyes adjusted to the night, he understood, with growing distress, why no one was there.

Row after row of salam trees kept a lonely vigil.

_Jared watched the deliberate way the camels plucked at the sparse green on the bush-like tree._

_“We call them salam trees,” Ibrahim explained, when he noticed what Jared was studying. “Between February and April, they have blossoms like round, yellow balls.” He circled his forefinger and thumb to indicate how big they were. “And the bees make the best honey from them,” he added, smacking his lips._

_Jared nodded along, but was amused at the almost dainty manners of the camels as they plucked off the slender foliage. “This is the most lady-like I’ve seen Basinah eat,” he chuckled._

_Ibrahim walked over to the nearly ten foot tall tree and pulled down a branch with almost the same care as the camels afforded it and motioned Jared to come closer. As Jared reached out to grab the branch for a closer inspection, Ibrahim moved it out of his reach._

_“Careful,” he warned before bringing it back._

_Using his forefinger, Jared prodded around the narrow pairs of leaves and saw that sprouting out of the dark limbs, at the base of each clump of foliage, was a bone-white thorn two or three inches long._

_Jared whistled. “Good reason to be careful.”_

At least three trees thick, the line of them ran the length of the dormitories. At best guess, Jared had a thirty some foot drop to the ground. He could dangle over the edge to reduce the distance, but there were no hand or footholds as far as he could see. Climbing was out of the question. He would have to jump. And that…that just wasn’t possible. There would be no way to shield himself from the damage. Those damned thorns would tear his skin to shreds. He might not even survive the fall to flee into the desert.

Sick, he slumped onto his back. There was no way for him to escape. Timothy would leave without him and he would be lost here, forgotten. The moon – partially full – stared down, uncaring.

Somewhere, someone started to sing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although there are tags for it, please let me remind readers that this story (and this chapter in particular) contains period-typical racist beliefs and language.

 

“’See, the conqu’ring hero comes’,” Alaina singsonged from where she sat, her pale, silk robes pooled about her. “’Sound the trumpets! Beat the drums!’”

“So nice to be welcomed back so enthusiastically,” Jensen sneered, “by Handel, no less. How I missed your dulcet tones this last fortnight.”

“It has been nearer to three weeks,” Alaina corrected him. “Your brother has been most diligent in keeping track of the days as they passed.” She rose up onto her knees and poured Jensen a small cup of piping hot coffee. “You do know,” she continued as she handed him the brew and he settled himself down onto another cushion, “that at some point you should consider taking him with you.”

Jensen inhaled deeply of the familiar aroma. He was tired and the last thing he wanted to do was get into any kind of verbal sparring match with Alaina. After having been gone for nearly three weeks, he wanted only one thing settled in addition to having a long bath and a good night’s rest – Jared. So, as he accepted the drink and made himself comfortable on the cushions in Alaina’s rooms, he decided not to argue, but appeal to her protective nature where Jake was concerned.

“You are right. Jake,” he paused, mostly to enjoy the way the nickname for his half-brother rankled her and soured her expression, “should begin to understand and see the length and breadth of our domain. But dealing firsthand with the Bani Yas would not have been the best way to indoctrinate him. They’ve done more than a fair bit to change Khawr al Udayd, since returning there four years ago. There’s even a new fort in the center of the town, you know.” He sipped his coffee, wincing in appreciation of its bitter sting against his slightly chapped lips. “And their fleet has grown to forty ships. Well, thirty now.”

Alaina curled back on her throne of pillows and tapped her lips thoughtfully. “No, I wouldn’t want that for Jacob.” And Jensen knew she meant it. He might think and believe many unkind things about Alaina, but she was a devoted mother. Overly so most times, but devoted nonetheless. She cut him a sly grin. “Thirty, you say? My, but you were busy. Is everyone all right?”

“You mean to tell me,” Jensen quipped as he adjusted his stiff and dusty thobe, wishing to be rid of it – the lingering odor of smoke clinging to its folds like an old friend – and the rest of his travel-filthy clothing, “that you haven’t already been given a detailed report?”

“I like to keep track of matters, but even I have limitations,” she admitted. “I know you returned this morning with the same number of men as you left with, but not much more than that. The same way I’m sure that you know everyone is well here,” and she waved her hand in the direction of her terrace, and the courtyards beyond, “without having the details.”

Jensen savored his coffee in silence. She was right, of course. He’d asked almost before dismounting from Shaitan if everything was as he’d left the palace and been informed that all was the same. But that didn’t tell him about Jared. Whether he was happy or sad, sleeping or eating well, how he looked or how he had passed the time. He had tried the night before he’d left to catch a glimpse of the lad. He’d gone so far as to call a general audience in the large hall, ostensibly to choose a companion for the evening, but really only wanting to see Jared after his meeting with Alaina. She had managed to circumvent his plans, however, and he had been forced to pick someone (Fannah maybe?) for a night no different than any other he passed with the concubines. And then he had spent his time away wondering about the boy and hating himself for the weakness. He decided that, after they had torched the tenth boat of the Bani Yas, upon his return he would do whatever was necessary to finally purge Jared from his thoughts and heart. He would have his longed for revenge.

The idea that Jared had been at Alaina’s tender mercies had not sat well with him. It wasn’t because he was concerned that she might say or do something to trouble the boy, he told himself, but simply that she might let something about him slip out while he was gone. Jared already knew far too much about Jensen. More than he would ever share with another and while he was guarded around Alaina, she had known him for nineteen years and the woman was sharp. There was no telling what she might have known. He would not have Jared in possession of any other part of himself any longer. And he wouldn’t put it past Alaina to reveal something personal for her own machinations. The woman liked playing her games and she, like Jensen, always played to win.

That would have been reason enough to find him here after so long a sortie. However, though he was unwilling to admit it, he and Alaina worked together. She managed the household – no easy task –like any spouse would, and they needed to catch up with one another whether he liked it or not. The only way he could see ridding himself of the woman who had usurped his mother’s place was if he took a Kadin of his own and he swore never to attempt that again. So he found himself, not for the first time, in the unenviable position of breaking bread with her like an equal. However, he couldn’t deny her sharp, analytical mind was useful at times and didn’t hesitate to share his concerns and observations about the local, political clime. Her analyses were often frighteningly insightful and decisive.

“We did well enough. Qasim has another scar to boast about, but, thanks to Nasih, he _is_ around to brag,” Jensen admitted. It had been close and those of the Bani Yas tribe had not lain down easily, needing the boats for pearl diving as much as piracy to support themselves since the local sheikhs had stopped giving them supplies. Jensen’s attack had been a serious blow to their efforts on both those fronts. But, with the coming treaty negotiations with the British later in the year, Jensen and his peers were determined to keep that foreign influence to a minimum. They would police their own people. “I owe Tahmoh and Jason my gratitude. They were rather indispensable in the adventure.”

Alaina hummed softly. “I suppose Jacob could be spared that a little longer. But, even though I would shield him from everything if I could, he will need to learn soon enough.” She circled the rim of her coffee cup with a slender finger thoughtfully. “If the men were as helpful as you suggest, I suppose a visit would be in order. Invite them for a sumptuous feast, show them your thanks. Perhaps even show them your latest, personal conquest.” She practically purred at the end, glancing up at Jensen through her thick, dark lashes.

He was momentarily speechless. Jensen hated to admit it, but having the other men come to see Jared was a brilliant idea. He could practically picture it…Jared, paraded about like an object, ogled and judged by his fellow sheikhs, stripped even further of his dignity and pride. It would be perfectly fitting, he thought to himself. “I suppose you have a point,” he agreed, playing down his growing excitement over the idea. “As a matter of fact, I think it is time I ushered Jared into the harem properly.”

Alaina raised one, curved eyebrow. “There are many others who have been waiting far longer for your _attention_ ,” Alaina pointed out. “There is an order to things.”

“No matter. I want him. And I will have him, Alaina,” he growled the last part, with an unyielding timbre resonating in his voice.

The woman shook her head, red curls bouncing and smiling in a bemused fashion. “I wouldn't dream of denying you what is by rights yours and yours alone.” She shifted about, collecting several choice bits of fruit and smoked fish from a large platter onto a separate plate, which she then set down before Jensen deferentially. “Please, eat something. I know life in the saddle is not a comfortable one and you must be starved. Please.” She sounded almost concerned, thoughtful.

Jensen grudgingly pulled the plate closer. The fish smelled savory and delicious, the succulent fruits most appealing to the eye with their juicy, jewel-like colors. He was hungry and thirsty and tired. There was no point in denying the fact. The foray out along the coast to Khawr al Udayd had not been an easy one and the dangers had been most real, but he despised the fact that the entire time he had been gone, he had had only one real thought in his head – Jared. He dragged a hand tiredly down his face, lingering on his beard, which needed trimming. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly, deciding to deal with his immediate wants first.

For a time, the two were silent as Jensen ate what Alaina had given him. Once again, she topped up his coffee and then added a glass of wine to the meal. Jensen quirked an eyebrow at that, but drank it down just the same. And the next glass as well. And the third. He didn't notice how she dutifully kept his glass full, but she did. He merely enjoyed the comfort of the silk pillows under him after weeks in the saddle, and fresh food after the dried hardtack and dates they’d traveled with. His eyes grew heavy, along with his stomach. Mellowed by the wine and food, Jensen relaxed substantially. Alaina was obeisant and he couldn't recall a more pleasant afternoon in her company as this one. It was so much better than smelling smoke and blood, so much better than anything he could recall in the recent past. It made him loose and careless.

“Should I send the boy to you tonight?” the First Kadin finally broached the subject, after Jensen’s eating had slowed, although his drinking had not.

Pushing the nearly empty plate away, and waving off Alaina’s unspoken offer to replenish it, Jensen shook his head. “I’m too tired for that. Have him ready for tomorrow, though,” he warned her. “But tell him about his duties tonight. Let him ruminate over it, knowing that the sword of Damocles is hanging over his head.”

Alaina’s tongue flicked out and touched her lower lip. She clasped her hands together, propped them up under her chin and leaned over on her elbows towards Jensen slightly. “I wouldn't mind a go at that sword,” she husked.

Jensen, glass raised up to his mouth, nearly choked on the drink he had taken. Sputtering, he set the glass back down onto the table hard enough that some of the thick, red wine sloshed over the sides, leaving tiny puddles of blood-red on the brass table. Wiping his moth with the back of his hand, Jensen glared at her. “Don’t jest about such things, Alaina. You were my father’s wife and are the mother to my half-brother.” There was barely hidden disgust in his tone.

Unfazed, the First Kadin grew serious. “I never jest, Jensen. You should know that about me by now. It makes perfect sense,” she continued on, undaunted. “I am already well-trained as a Kadin, know our household inside and out, and am more than willing to be your partner. There is no hadith,” she held up a hand to forestall his argument, “no religious or moral objection for you taking me as your wife. And I could be very, very good to you,” she added breathily. “Very good. I’ve proven myself fertile once already.”

Jensen head was spinning, but not from desire or lust. Alaina’s proposition had shocked him to the core. He couldn't imagine ever being with her that way. And he told her as much. “No. That will never happen, Alaina.” Almost as an afterthought to soothe any ruffled feathers and prevent the moment from going completely to the dogs, he added, “In any event, Jared isn't going to have a go at that sword, either. I have no intention of actually taking him.” Grabbing his glass, Jensen was pleased to see that he had turned the tables on the older woman. The first Kadin wore an expression that must have mirrored Jensen’s earlier shock.

“I don’t understand,” she finally managed to get out. “You want him for tomorrow night, but you have no plans of…consummating your rapprochement?” At Jensen’s curious look, Alaina explained. “It is more than obvious that you two are familiar with one another. I may not know all the sordid details of your time together in England,” she conceded, “but I don’t need to, to know that that there is something more between you both. And you always _service_ your concubines quite thoroughly. Why not take your revenge that way, exorcise him from your thoughts and move onto the next one a free man?”

Jensen drained his glass before answering. “How I know Jared is of no concern to you. He and I have a debt to settle and I mean to even the score. And the way I see it, the best way to lay someone so highborn low is to make them feel worthless. He believes the harem is a collection of whores, so I will treat him like the lowest of ones – a bunter – and then, in the end, show him he isn’t even worth my time for that. Let him live his days amongst the others as the lowest of the low, with no station or rank. I would find that suitable indeed.”

Placing his glass down with a definitive _clack_ , Jensen rose on somewhat unsteady legs. Alaina slowly got to her feet as well. “Tell him nothing more than that he will service me tomorrow and have him made ready,” he ordered her, mollified when she didn’t argue with him further. As he wove a mostly straight path out of her rooms, he missed the way her brow furrowed, clearly troubled.

When Jensen entered his bedchamber, he practically collapsed face-first onto the soft bedding and slept like the dead, blissfully untroubled by haunting dreams of hazel eyes. By the time he roused, still stinking from his travels, several hours had passed. Wrinkling his nose at his own stench, he rapidly stripped down to his sirwal, letting his filthy clothes fall to the floor carelessly. Someone else would attend to them and today, he didn’t begrudge that, weary to the bone. He stepped into the small, side chamber where his personal bath awaited him and locked the gilded gate shut behind him, shaking his head as he hung the only key around his neck by its thin chain. Both he and the Valide’s water closets were thusly equipped, to protect them from assassination attempts when they were at their most vulnerable. It was a facet of their lives. 

The afternoon sun splashed blindingly white patterns, like jagged pieces of glass, onto the plain walls where it shone through the carved openings of the roof. Jensen undid his sirwal and let the pants drop stiffly down, grateful to be free of the dirty clothing. He knelt in the small alcove where the marble basin and faucet were, running the water as hot as possible. He grabbed the _kese_ and the bottle of soapy liquid. With little regard to what he was doing, Jensen sluiced his body with the water, mindless of the way it carved cracks through the swath of dust and grime along his broad chest. He slathered on generous dollops of the clove-scented soap and proceeded to scrub down his body with an economy of motion, barely aware of the golden-pink, tingling skin he revealed with each pass. When he was certain he had scoured away the worst of the filth, he dropped the _kese_ into the basin and padded over to the large, marble tub.  Throwing a leg over, he slowly sunk into the still-warm water (the servants had obviously been keeping an eye on him as he slept and kept the bath ready), sighing comfortably as the tendrils of steam wafted up from the bathwater and disappeared into the shards of afternoon sunlight.

Along one side of the tub was a tray and Jensen helped himself to the cool water in the carafe left by one of the slaves. He drank it slowly as the heat from the bath sunk into his aching muscles and melted away the stiffness he had awoken to. That would teach him, he chastised himself, to spend the late morning drinking, of all things, with Alaina. Letting his head loll back, he reviewed his conversation with the First Kadin, hoping he hadn’t betrayed himself with his angry ramblings and loosened tongue. Of course, her romantic revelation hadn’t done much for his composure, either. He rubbed his mouth, the prickling hairs once again reminding him of his need to trim his beard, and shook his head. That the woman had the actual audacity to offer herself up to Jensen like that made something hot and sick coil in his belly. There was no way on earth he would ever consider taking her as his consort, his spouse, when he’d only ever wanted…

Jensen sat up with a great wave, slopping water over the side of the tub, no longer finding comfort in the languid warmth. He climbed out, mindful of the slick floor and wrapped a clean peştemal around his waist several times, fully intending to let the air dry and cool his suddenly overheated skin. He removed the chain and key from his neck, releasing himself from the bath. He would deal with his beard later, suddenly finding the steamy room to be too close. Once back in his bedchamber, however, he discovered his situation little improved. Everything was still stuffy and confining. With his feet echoing a distinctive _thwap-thwap-thwap_ across the floor, he found himself standing near the terrace, just off to one side, partially obscured from anyone’s view by the gathered drapes. He hoped the slight breeze might soothe his hot blood. What he discovered in the garden below did little to ease his disquiet.

Jensen watched as Assaf led Jared into the Courtyard of the Gözdes. For a brief moment, Jensen was at a loss. The courtyard below his window was one that still retained, amongst examples of the more striking and unusual of the natural vegetation, some of his mother’s roses. Jensen had been too late to save the majority of them when Alaina convinced his father to turn over the apartments of the Valide to her, but he had managed to reclaim a few bushes from several, loyal servants who had secreted them away instead of destroying them as the First Kadin had decreed. He’d had them replanted and had watched them slowly flourish once again in his own, personal garden. His because he had never favored any concubine, so none had the right to use the courtyard. By rights, he should have Assaf and Jared removed, punished even, for daring to enter the courtyard, but he did neither. Instead, he tucked himself carefully alongside the massive drapes that were tied off on one side of his terrace and watched the scene below unfold.

Jared moved slowly, uncertain, and Jensen noticed how he barely took in his surroundings. His shoulders, broader than Jensen remembered, were rounded and slumped. _Defeated_ , Jensen thought. And the realization should have delighted the sheikh, but surprisingly didn’t. Instead, there was a pang of something he wouldn’t name pricking at his heart. Dressed in simple, but well-fitting, silks of robin’s egg blue, the young Englishman shuffled along behind the odalik. When two more servants scuttled in, bearing pillows and a bowl, Assaf directed them to lay the items on the stone walkway that split the center of the courtyard in two before sending them out again. Assaf arranged the pillows and then motioned for Jared to stretch out on them. It was uncomfortable for Jensen to see how Jared questioned nothing, merely moved to obey. But when he spotted the bowl, he startled badly and took two steps back.

Too far to hear them well (damn those fountains), Jensen could only stare as Assaf quickly gripped the lad’s elbow and began rapidly speaking to him, pointing to the bowl and shaking his head, all the while maintaining a concerned expression on his face. Whatever he said seemed to calm Jared, who nodded back after a minute. Assaf returned to re-arranging the pillows, probably giving the lad a moment, as Jared stood by.

 _What the devil did he think was in that bowl to frighten him so?_ Jensen wondered.

When he had the pillows in the proper configuration, Assaf signaled for Jared to lie down. Before complying, Jared twisted away and slowly began to unbutton the loose shirt he wore, unknowingly granting Jensen a much better view. Jensen unconsciously stepped further into the shadows, even though there was little chance Jared could see him, and watched in rapt fascination. Jared’s movements were slow and deliberate and Jensen could almost convince himself that he was watching the beginnings of a seduction. Almost. What ruined the fantasy was the way the lad’s hands trembled and he had mostly likely faced away from the odalik in a fruitless attempt to maintain his privacy, unaware how Jensen studied him like a hawk from his perch on the terrace.

When the last button was undone, the silk slid open and Jared moved back towards Assaf. There was a moment when something near his breast glistened in the late afternoon light, but Jensen, unable to see it clearly, decided it must have only been a fastening on the shirt. Assaf gestured to the shirt and Jared shrugged his shoulders. The wispy material slipped down his long, slender arms to waft down onto the courtyard floor. At the sight of Jared’s long, lean back and the acres of smooth skin suddenly laid bare, Jensen unknowingly licked his lips. The shift and flex of slender muscles was intoxicating. He’d had his hands pressed up against that back more than once, but this was the first time he’d seen it in all its naked glory.

With what appeared to be some reluctance, Jared stretched out onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his crossed arms. Assaf kneeled off to one side and spoke into the boy’s ear. When Jared finally bobbed his head awkwardly, Assaf moved his hands to the back of Jared’s trousers and pulled them slowly down until the crease of the boy’s arse was tantalizingly in view. The man stopped and left the waistband snug against the sinful curve of the Englishman’s backside. He fished a small vial out of his dark vest’s pocket and uncorked it, holding the contents near Jared’s nose as he explained something to the lad. When Jared nodded again, Assaf swung his leg across Jared’s thighs and straddled the boy. Pouring some of the vial’s contents along the length of Jared’s spine, he recorked the container and set it aside.

Dipping his fingers in the fluid, Assaf began to make long, slow passes of his hands along Jared’s back and shoulders. The man’s darker fingers stood out against the pale flesh of the Englishman like a brand and with each pass, Jensen’s jaw grew tighter and tighter, his hand twisting into the fabric of the drapes. To see those fingers dig and kneed into Jared’s firm flesh stoked a fire inside Jensen that never seemed to be fully banked. The only thing that prevented him from leaving his hiding spot and calling an end to what the French would surely describe as _pornographie_ was the minute tensing even Jensen saw from his vantage point. Jared was not enjoying the touches, merely tolerating them.

Struggling to get his breathing back under control, Jensen continued to observe the two. Assaf didn’t linger in his task and as soon as Jared’s back had an even coating of oil (was that a hint of lavender on the insignificant, afternoon breeze?) worked into his skin, he stopped and wiped his hands on a rag folded near the bowl that had unsettled Jared so greatly. When he was done, Assaf picked up the bowl and a small brush that must have been rolled up inside the rag. With controlled, precise strokes, Assaf began to paint symbols along the length of Jared’s spine in what must have been henna. The designs ranged from simple words to an ornate fig at the small of Jared’s back. All the while, the boy didn’t move in the slightest. Whether that was because he had been ordered to or didn’t care, Jensen had no way of knowing.

Assaf stopped eventually, seemingly pleased with his work. He set aside the bowl and brush, whispered something in Jared’s ear and then signaled off to the side. Stepping into the courtyard, the two servants from earlier exchanged the used bowl and brush for a fresh set, before disappearing once more. With much less meticulous passes, the odalik coated each pattern and design with the new concoction until they all shone with a crystalline sparkle. Assaf climbed off of Jared – finally, Jensen sighed to himself – and gave him some kind of instructions, motioning to his back and then the sun, which was starting to dip towards the horizon. The only indication the man received that Jared had understood was another, small nod. The older man bowed slightly and left the courtyard. Seeing how Jared was facing away from Jensen, he stepped away from the curtains once Assaf was completely out of sight, confident he wouldn’t be discovered.

Although Jensen couldn’t see Jared’s face, the boy’s body told him most everything he needed to know. Even stretched out on pillows, there was a tenseness that never left the set of his shoulders. His hair, already longer than Jensen recalled him wearing, was still growing out. But now, there were the beginnings of copper and gold streaking through the dark tresses, evidence of time spent under the unrelenting eye of the sun. He wondered, briefly, how Jared had passed that time and with whom. He reminded himself he would need to question Assaf at some point soon and get a detailed report of Jared’s activities while he had been absent. Even as he planned on that, he scolded himself for caring. After tomorrow eve, what would it matter? Jensen would have him and then wash his hands of the lad for good.

In fact, as another breeze brushed against his skin, he realized he had been standing like a thief in his own home, wearing nothing more than a flimsy shift. He hissed a curse at himself for once again letting the young Englishman affect him to the point where he forgot himself and his dignity. He stomped away, back into the bedchamber. Laid out carefully along a divan was a fresh change of garments and Jensen gratefully scooped them up, trying, with some difficulty, to ignore his half-hard cock as he slipped on clean sirwal. He didn’t bother with anything more, strangely still overheated – because of the bath, he told himself – and moved about restlessly within his chamber in relative privacy. Finally deciding to channel some of that wayward energy, he sat at his desk and withdrew his own journal.

More of a ledger, the book was quite large. Opening it up to the appropriate date, he began to chronicle his trip to the coast, making careful notations about what he had seen while within the limits of Khawr al Udayd. He wrote down exacting details about the fortifications he had seen first-hand, the number and types of vessel the Bani Yas had at their disposal and the arsenal they commanded as well. He was so distracted and lost in his writings that he didn’t realize the lateness of the hour until he shivered from the evening chill. Closing his book and storing it in the first drawer of his battered desk, Jensen stood up and collected his clean shirt. He walked back over to the edge of the terrace, almost against his will, as he buttoned the high-collared garment.

Peering out cautiously, he was surprised to find Jared mostly where he had left him. The boy, with his back to Jensen, was sitting cross-legged on the pillows while Assaf swiped a large cloth across his back. The dried henna flaked and fell away easily, leaving behind its tell-tale, burnt orange stains. With each swipe, Jensen felt a stirring in his groin, idly contemplating what it would be like to trace each and every one of those sigils with his tongue.

Palming himself almost angrily, he told himself softly, “Soon enough and then we’re quit of one another.”

Assaf assisted Jared back into his shirt and he did it, Jensen was secretly pleased to note, with minimal touching on the odalik’s part. He leaned forward and made a motion to Jared, but the boy surprised him (and Jensen) by clasping the older man’s hand and making some kind of entreaty, pointing to the sky before looking back earnestly at Jensen’s boyhood playmate-turned-servant. Assaf turned his head from one side to the other nervously, perhaps realizing that he had tempted fate by remaining too long in the forbidden courtyard before finally acquiescing to those soulful eyes. He pointed off towards the distance, probably letting Jared know when he would return and, with some small hesitation, left Jared alone.

When the man was no longer around, Jensen saw the way Jared sat up straighter. The sun had already set the horizon aflame in waves of gold and tangerine and was visibly sinking below the sands even as he watched. It took hardly any time at all for the sky to shift from warm tones to cool sapphire. One by one, the stars came out of hiding, dotting the heavens with their cold, diamond presence. When Jensen glanced back down at Jared, the younger man had his head tilted back, taking in the heavenly expanse before him. And, studying Jared, Jensen remembered.

 

**_Somerset, England in July, 1851_ **

“ _But that makes him the pig,” George Padalecki chortled, inordinately pleased with himself. His face was blotchy from spirits and good humor._

_Jensen blotted at his mouth carefully with the crisp linen, studiously ignoring the Padalecki patriarch with feigned indifference._

_“Father,” James sighed, “really.”_

_But George was in fine form, the brandy clearly having gone to his head or, more likely, his tongue. “James, I was not the one who coined the phrase ‘keeper of the pig’. That, my dear boy,” he tapped his silverware against the table for emphasis, “came from your own beloved Oxford. As the one hosting a freshman, you,” he waved an unsteady finger at James, “are the keeper. And that makes him,” he turned his delighted gaze and wavering finger towards Jensen, “the pig.”_

_From the corner of his eye, Jensen saw that Jared was starting to twist uncomfortably in his seat, but remained silent. Jensen wasn’t surprised really. After all, did he truly expect a sixteen-year-old boy to suddenly jump to his feet and denounce his father before his entire family? Though he hadn’t stayed with them long, Jensen didn’t need much time to see how George kept his children in line. He was less successful with James, but that was part and parcel of the oldest child having left home, Jensen surmised. He himself was little different with his own father now that years and an ocean separated them. James was growing into his own man. But Jared, under the thumb and scrutiny of a_ _man who Jensen was growing to see as more of a despot than a father, had had little opportunity to discover himself. No, he could not and, more significantly, would not find fault with the lad._

_“Which is really quite an amusing twist of fate, since I believe pigs are something of an anathema to you…people,” George stumbled over the last word with little subtlety._

_Taking a deep breath, Jensen regarded the odious man evenly. “True enough,” he agreed readily, “but I thought they were to you as well.” The not-so-subtle reference to George’s former religion was a direct hit. The man blanched ever so slightly before regaining his composure._

_“I’m sure you’re quite mistaken. My family is a devout member of the Church of England,” he replied evenly._

_And Jensen knew that to be true. All anyone of the Jewish persuasion needed to do was publicly renounce their beliefs, embrace the Church and all was forgiven. One could then move about in “polite” society and make headway amongst the ton without issue. “Forgive me. It is so hard to keep abreast of the changes,” he quipped, pleased with himself. “Being half-Irish, I quite enjoy a side of ham now and again without needing to hide my true nature.” And it was only after he admitted that that Jensen recognized his folly._

_“Irish?” George snickered. “That certainly explains so much. Why, the rector from the next parish over recently returned from Ireland.” He made a show of thinking by tapping his finger against his chin. “Now what was it Kingsley wrote back to his wife regarding the trip_ _? Oh yes, he remarked how haunted he was by the ‘white chimpanzees’ he saw along the hundred mile stretch of the Irish coast he passed by_ _. He was so startled that their skin, where not touched by the sun, was as white as ours and how dreadful it was to behold, that it would have been better for them to have been black instead and remain unseen.”_

_“George,” Elizabeth whispered. The woman had stopped eating to stare, aghast, at her husband._

_But the man was in his element now. “Even the Queen’s own economist, Nassau Senior, remarked that killing a million Irish three years ago was_ _‘scarcely enough to do much good’.”_

 _Jensen sat stock still in his seat, knuckles growing white as the skin there looked likely to split at any moment, it was so taut_ _._

_“I have no idea how your mother came to keep company with those sand Negroes, but they say like knows like. You are living proof of that. Perhaps we should write to Charles Darwin and get him to include that on his next treatise.” And he guffawed loudly._

_Jensen, rigid as a statue, placed his napkin down on the table with steely reserve. “It was a lovely meal, Mrs. Padalecki. If you will excuse me, I think I will take in a breath of fresh air before retiring.” And he stood up stiffly._

_“Of course, Jensen,” the brunette replied demurely. “I’m so glad you enjoyed the meal.”_

_“Everyone,” he said as he bowed to the others before walking away, desperate to escape._

_“Well, I don’t understand his ill humor. One only needs to pick up a copy of Punch to see the Irish portrayed as the_ _hulking apes they are_ _. That is not my doing, but common opinion…”_

_Jensen missed whatever else George had to say on the matter as he stumbled out into the hallway, blindly searching for any door that would get him away from the man. He could stomach many things, and had over his months in England, but any slur against his mother set his blood afire…_

_Somehow, he found himself outside, not even bothering to close the doors behind him as he all but fled the house. Jensen walked on numb legs towards the garden he had first sought respite in after arriving at Daylesford Manor, trying to get his breathing under control and rein in his rage. It was no small task. Pacing about the manicured hedges like some caged cat, he eventually found a stone bench and all but collapsed onto it. Yanking his cravat loose and letting his head fall back, he took in the stars, finding solace in their familiar patterns. For him, the night sky was the only thing that eased the ache he carried when he thought of home. When he looked at the stars, he no longer was a stranger in a strange land._

_After what might have been hours or merely minutes, Jensen’s breathing calmed and he no longer had the urge to strike Padalecki across the face, which, considering the man was not only his host, but the father of both his best friend and someone who was becoming..._ something _to Jensen, was probably a more desirable situation to find himself in. He was still lost so deep enough in thought that he almost missed the subtle cough off to his left. Turning to the side, he was not entirely surprised to see Jared in the shadow of some elaborately shaped topiary. Stepping tentatively into the moonlight, the boy looked by turns nervous and ashamed. Jensen knew why he had come._

_“Don’t, Jared,” Jensen hissed. “I don’t want to hear your apology.”_

_The lad stood there, wringing his hands and biting his lip practically bloody. In the white light of the moon, his skin was washed porcelain, like an exquisite doll, both fragile and beautiful. And Jensen’s heart softened. He pat the cold, unyielding bench, indicating the boy should join him. One touch was all it took before Jared was practically tumbling next to him._

_“I am, though,” he whispered harshly. “I’m so very sorry.”_

_Jensen gave a quick jerk of his chin, but found words had suddenly escaped him. Something about the boy’s tone had struck a nerve and a sharp stabbing behind his eyes threatened to release tears that he had sworn never to shed on these foreign soils, never to show any weakness. And yet he was coming undone in the presence of a child._

_“I-I don’t know how you can stand it,” Jared murmured. “From what James has told me occurring on a near daily basis at university and even here you are taunted and ridiculed. I-I’ve never known someone as strong as you, Jensen. Truly, I haven’t.”_

_Tilting his head away and towards the stars, Jensen did that pointless thing where one flutters their eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from spilling. “I can handle it all, Jared,” he croaked eventually. “But not about her.”_

_“Your mother?” the lad asked softly, almost reverentially._

_Jensen swallowed thickly._

_“Do you miss her?”_

_“Only every day that passes,” Jensen finally admitted._

_“But you’ll see her when you get back,” Jared offered tentatively._

_Jensen chuckled, but there was no mirth to the sound. “She’s dead, lad.”_

_“Oh,” came the soft reply. “I didn’t know.”_

_Jensen twisted back to face the boy. “It’s of no concern, Jared. No one here knows. And it was a long time ago,” he added when it appeared that Jared might actually cry himself. “I was ten when it happened.”_

_“Still,” the boy muttered._

_Jensen pasted a smile on his face, but it was a grim thing. “I still miss her,” he agreed. “And when it gets to be too much, I come out and look at the stars. When I see them, I remember her and home doesn’t seem so far away. These same lights shine on my country the same as they do here. If I stare long enough, it’s like I’m back there again and it doesn’t seem too awful any longer.”_

_“Do you miss it terribly?” Jared asked timidly._

_“At times. I miss the familiarity and, I hate to admit, I miss the deference I’m accorded there.”_

_“May I ask something of a personal nature?” The young Englishman asked timidly. “You can tell me to go to the devil if you like.”_

_Jensen had to admit he was curious, unable to picture anything Jared might ask that would elicit such a response from him. “Go right ahead.”_

_“If your mother was from Ireland,” and Jensen found himself tensing up at the mention of her homeland, “didn’t you have as much of a struggle there as you do here?”_

_Sucking his upper lip in and trapping it between his teeth, Jensen paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. It was a fair question, if a tad presumptuous. But he found he had little desire not to be honest with Jared. Releasing his lip again, he replied, “No, because that was expected.”_

_Jared cocked his head to the side, some of his dark fringe falling into his eyes. “Expected?”_

_Jensen reached over without thought and brushed the wayward strands out of the way, surprising himself and the boy with the familiar touch. He smiled sadly. “It is expected because the rulers in my land keep harems just like you read about in_ The Arabian Nights’ Entertainment _. And the people of the harem are almost always foreigners captured as slaves.”_

_In the pale moonlight, Jared’s eyes were as black as a doll’s and it was nearly impossible to read them. “Your mother was a slave? Was your father the one who caught her or did he save her?”_

_“No,” he answered quickly. “He bought her from a market in Morocco. She had been kidnapped while studying art in France. On a trip along the coast, Barbary pirates took her prisoner, along with a handful of others. But she was an exceptional beauty and the Dey of Algiers saved her for my father, knowing he would appreciate her charms and pay well for them.” Jensen nearly spat the last bit out._

_The boy clasped his hands together and wouldn’t meet Jensen’s eyes for the longest time. “Did he love her?” he finally asked._

_Jensen nodded his head slowly. “Yes, I think he did eventually.” Following Jared’s natural train of thought, he dreaded the next question._

_“And did she eventually love him back?”_

_“I-I don’t know, Jared,” Jensen answered honestly. “But I don’t believe so.” And then it was Jensen’s turn to clasp his hands together._

_“But you were so young, Jensen. Maybe you just didn't see it,” Jared offered hopefully and in that moment, Jensen felt a great deal of affection for the lad for trying to make it better._

_“I don’t think so. When I was nine, I snuck out of my bed one night. My father had come to my mother’s rooms for a visit and I was curious why he had come so late. I hid behind one of the screens so they couldn't see me.” And he laughed harshly. “Should have realized nothing ever good comes out of spying.”_

_“What happened?” Jensen heard the anxiety in the question._

_“My mother was asking my father if he loved her and he said he did more than the sun loved the land. So she told him that if he truly loved her, he would let her leave with me to go back to Ireland, to be free again.” Jensen felt that pricking behind his eyes once more. “That was the first time I ever saw my father sad. He told her that he believed she was happy there with him and she told him…”_

_“She told him what?” Jared prodded, when Jensen stopped speaking._

_Jensen dragged a hand over his mouth, letting the rough skin rasping against his lips ground him in the here and now. These were only memories he spoke of, he reminded himself, and the pain was an old one. “She admitted to him she had never been happy, not for a single instant. So my father told her she could leave, but that I had to stay behind. I was his only heir and unless he had another son, he refused to give me up, saying that I was his, too.” He took a shaky breath. “I crept back into my bed soon after. The only other thing I remember from that night was hearing my mother crying in the dark. She stopped speaking about her homeland to me after that night and a few months later she was dead.” He chanced a look at Jared’s face and saw the young man staring back with far more tenderness than someone his age should have possessed._

_“Oh, Jensen,” he whispered._

_“She went off riding one day. My father let her have free rein to come and go from the palace as she pleased, with an escort, of course. A sandstorm blew in suddenly and she was caught up in it. But the worst thing…the absolute worst thing was what some of the servants whispered later,” Jensen croaked. “One of them swore they saw her ride into the storm, not from it.”_

_And, unbidden, a tear slipped down his cheek. “She hated her life so much that she threw it away and it was all my fault. If it hadn’t been for me, she could have been free. I was the one who killed her in the end.”_

_“No, Jensen,” Jared said, grabbing his hand. “God, no. Whatever happened that day was a tragedy, but it was never your fault.”_

_Jensen whipped his head around. “How can you say that?”_

_Jared stared at him earnestly. “Because she_ did _love you. She loved you enough not to leave you behind when she had the chance. Do you really think she would have changed her mind like that?”_

 _“I-I don’t know for certain what she might have done. She was so sad, Jared,” and yet he hoped the boy would change_ his _mind. He had never considered his mother’s death the way Jared did._

_“I do,” the boy reaffirmed. “It sounds like she had very few choices in her life, save one. She chose you, Jensen.” And he squeezed Jensen’s hand for emphasis._

_He hadn’t noticed that more tears had slipped from his eyes until Jared’s slender fingers brushed them away. “She was my whole world, Jared,” he said quietly. “And I can’t stand to have her disparaged. Not even her memory. I can bear up under anything else in this world, but not that.”_

_Wiping away another tear, Jared seemed to understand how exposed and vulnerable Jensen was in that moment. “I won’t ever tell a soul. I swear.”_

_Unable to find the words, Jensen simply nodded and looked back up at the sky. Sitting next to him, Jared entwined their fingers and did the same thing. They sat there for hours, never saying a word. But the silence they shared spoke volumes._

 

As Jensen watched Jared, he spotted a familiar hitch to his shoulders and he was certain the lad was crying even as the stars blinked familiarly above him.

 _Good_ , he thought, and retreated into his bedchamber without a glance backward.

 _Good_.

And he was certain that if he repeated the word enough times, he would even come to believe it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The picture of the sultan's bath at Topkapi Palace is in the public domain.


	17. Chapter 17

_ _

Jared slipped into the open courtyard of the concubines. As he had expected, the others who had also decided to take some morning sun were already huddled in their various, favored groupings. Some lowered their voices when they spotted him, while others continued on conversing in a variety of languages that Jared had a hard time following – Italian blending into German, Russian melding with Dutch. Nearly a month had passed and little had changed. Most of the others eyed him with what he could only suspect was a mixture unease and distrust. He didn’t blame them. He still didn’t believe he belonged amongst them anymore than they did. But if his feeble attempt at escape had proven one thing, it was that he was well and truly caught.

For almost the entire week after that fateful night, he had remained within “his” chamber, only leaving to attend to basic necessities. Assaf or one of the eunuchs (never Worthy or Wisdom, however) brought him meals without question and spirited away his tray when he was done, although Jared did little more than pick at what was offered. His appetite had fled with his heart, apparently. When he was well into the second week of his self-imposed solitude, Genevieve had come unannounced into his room. For that entire day, she had kept him silent company, sitting on some cushions in the corner of the room while he had stayed on his bed, studying the cracks in the ceiling. She returned the next day with an oud and had plucked out some simple tunes, singing softly, if slightly off-key. On the third day, she had come back with a book and proceeded to read aloud in English until her voice cracked in the late evening. The fourth saw her carrying a small wooden box in one hand and a board under her other arm. She had dragged the small table away from the wall and laid out the chess pieces carefully. They were red and white ivory, all curves and smooth shapes with little, at first glance, to differentiate the pieces.

“They take some getting used to,” she offered to his unanswered question. “No one but the Creator can make things than look like living beings, but I’ll wager you can get the hang of it quickly enough.” And then she had gone and made the first move – a King’s Pawn Game – while waiting patiently for his response. Jared finally capitulated to her perseverant behavior and dragged himself off the bed and joined her on the floor, with the table between them. She’d won the first two games when he’d played the cramped, French defense, but Jared took the third and fourth. By the end of the day, the two were talking about more than merely chess strategies and things weren’t quite so bleak.

He had allowed her to convince him into rejoining the common areas even though he wanted to hide away from everything. But, a day after a brief exchange with one of the concubines who not only spoke English, but actually answered him, his resolve to escape rushed to the fore once more. The woman, slightly older than most of the others, was reclining on a divan in the shade, staring at the far wall, but clearly miles away in thought. Shoring up his courage, Jared asked her how she spent her days. The faded blonde had turned slightly empty eyes in his direction and replied, “I sit on this sofa.” Jared, afraid she hadn’t understood his question, tried again. The woman repeated, “I sit on this sofa and when I am tired, I cross the courtyard and sit on that one.” She pointed out a nearly identical divan on the opposite side of the square. Despite the midday sun, Jared shivered at her resigned declaration and vowed not to succumb to ennui as she had.

But his newly returned resolve practically melted away yesterday, when Assaf had collected him and taken him to the unused Courtyard of the Favorites. He had explained, as best he could, that Jared was to be “readied” for his turn with their sheikh. Jared had almost managed to blot Jensen from his mind, having neither heard from nor seen the man since he’d taken Fannah to bed with him three weeks prior. It had been easier to try and forget his existence than acknowledge it. Certainly cowardly, but it had been the only way Jared had been able to cope with the situation. That mechanism was now gone and he had been subjected to yet another procedure he had had no say in, although Assaf had assured him the markings on his back would fade over time and were not permanent like some of the designs he had seen on many of the sailors of the _Northfleet_. But that reassurance had been cold comfort, to be sure, as had the pains to which Assaf had gone to give Jared some privacy. The odalik had risked potential punishment for using the courtyard, but it had given Jared a small amount of concealment during the process.

After Jared had begged for some additional time alone, he had admittedly lost himself for a while in tears. But the emotional storm had passed and he made sure to take in his surroundings. Smaller than the open courtyard of the concubines, this one only had one side where there was an addition level above it. He wasn’t certain if there were other rooms beyond the courtyard (his best guess was the square was located somewhat centrally in the palace’s layout), but if they were, they were the same level. And he had no idea what rooms were on the floor that overlooked the garden, but he hadn’t noticed anyone watching and there had been no lights lit within. The other oddity was that there wasn’t a single guard in sight. He didn't know if that was Assaf’s doing or normal protocol, but he planned to tuck that observation away for later consideration.

But even in his efforts to be analytical, Jared’s heart skipped a beat now and again, and his mouth was drier than the sands beyond the palace walls at the thought of being alone with Jensen after everything that had come between them. Once Assaf had come to collect him for the night, sleep had been mostly elusive. When he wasn’t tossing and turning from half-formed memories-turned-nightmares, he was listening for telltale footsteps at his door to lead him off to his inevitable encounter with the only person he had ever loved.

There were no footsteps, however, nor was there any waking escape from the nightmare he had found himself in. So, as soon as the gray, half-light of dawn insinuated itself into his room, Jared gave up all pretense of a restful sleep and sat up to watch the small timepiece tick away the minutes until it was late enough that he might find someone in the common courtyard. He no longer cared that few would speak to him in his sudden need for human commiseration. The young Englishman dressed carelessly, pulling on the black pants and shirt he had worn the first time he’d met the others, foregoing the more tailored – and revealing – items in his wardrobe. He marched down the corridors and hallways, paying no mind to the guards, whose unaffected stances belied the way their eyes tracked his passing.

And as he moved about the courtyard, his spirits buoyed fractionally when he spotted Genevieve stretched out like a lazy cat on some pillows near the pool. She was dressed in a shift of chocolate brown silk that bared her shoulders to the sun and was slowly smoothing on oil over her olive skin until every inch was covered. Whether it was the usual hush that preceded his arrival or just her woman’s intuition, Genevieve raised her eyes and waved to him. The feeling of gratitude blossomed within his chest as he ambled over, trying – and mostly failing – to look as though he belonged amongst them by choice.

He quickly dropped down beside her, eager not to stand out as he did so obviously, almost a head taller than most everyone else in the harem. “Sabah el-khair,” he told her.

“Sabah el-noor,” she replied with a smile, pleased at his attempt at Arabic. Pointing to a brass tray off to one side, she asked, “Hal anta 'aTshaan? Shaay?”

He shook his head, letting his fringe fall across his eyes. “La, shukran.” He didn’t think he could stomach more tea.

Genevieve sat up straighter and frowned. “Aish fi?”

And Jared could not even begin to describe in Arabic what was wrong, so he fell back to English. “I am supposed to spend the night with Je –” he started and the corrected himself since he had noticed that no one, even those who had spent time with Jensen, referred to him by anything other than his title. “I’m to spend the night with the sheikh.”

The woman nodded her head knowingly and then took in his dark ensemble and tsked in a disapproving manner. To Jared’s surprise, she plucked at the black silk with obvious distaste. “You should really wear something in a more flattering shade then.”

He flinched. “I’m not worried about my clothing,” he stated, as she had apparently mistook his unease for concern over his appearance.

“Well, you certainly should be. I understand that Assaf tattooed you himself yesterday. You should most definitely wear a vest, or even appear shirtless so that the sheikh can see it as soon as you are brought into his chambers. Come on,” she urged, rising up to her knees and tugging at his shirt, “the sun will darken it even more.”

Shocked, Jared sat stock still as her small hands worked the fastenings easily, only flinching once when she inadvertently brushed against the jewelry embedded in his nipples. That sent a strange shock through his body that ended in his groin, where the chastity device made sure that it was for naught. Embarrassed, he ducked his head and hoped Genevieve hadn’t noticed his awkward reaction, he himself uncertain what to make of it.

Slipping the silk off his shoulders and down his arms, Genevieve tossed the shirt aside and scooted behind Jared, humming and making appreciative sounds as she skated a finger over the marks on his back. “He does do exquisite work,” she murmured before grabbing the small bowl she had been using before his arrival. She moistened her hands and began to smooth the sweet-smelling oil over his shoulders and torso, paying particular attention to the small of his back. Her soft, yet surprisingly firm, strokes were also causing sparks of something to race up and down his spine. Despite his best efforts, he shuddered under her touch.

 

Leaning close to his ear, she whispered brazenly, “If nothing else, at least you’ll be rid of that cage for a night.”

He jerked at her words, completely at a loss for what to say. “Oh, come now, Jared. We all wear them. It’s no secret.” She flopped back down onto her back across the pillows, stretching sinuously. “It’s heavenly to be free.” And she reached across to the tray to grab a section of pomegranate, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow as she picked at the juicy seeds with her other hand. She offered a few to Jared, who took the things somewhat reluctantly. While delicious, they resembled frozen clots of blood and reminded him of Persephone dooming herself to living half the year in the underworld for eating them.

Feeling exposed in more ways than one, Jared hunched over as he ate, hoping that no one was watching him. Eyes darting about, he tried to study the others surreptitiously. Most appeared to be involved in their personal circles, but he couldn’t be sure. Genevieve confirmed the worst a moment later.

Sitting upright, she leaned against his bare arm and said softly, “They all know it’s your turn tonight.” Seeing his dismay, she went on, “This is a good thing. You’ll get your duties over with and, for a short time, you’ll be the boy-king here.”

“What?” he sked, confused by her cheerfulness.

“Take Matthew, for example,” and she jerked her head subtly in the other man’s direction, where he sat surrounded by several others. “His flock is starting to dwindle. A month in and he’s shown no signs of carrying a potential heir. And while Fannah is still possibly in the running, she also seems far too boisterous to be with child if you ask me.” Genevieve considered her nails seriously. “Everyone will swarm to you next. My advice? Enjoy it while you can.”

Undecided if he should spit out the hard center of the pomegranate seed or swallow it, Jared played with the little nugget in his mouth. When he took a second glance at Matthew, he did notice that his audience was not as large as it had been the week before. He appeared as fit and trim as ever, although he had favored loose shirts after…and he refused to finish that thought, refused to acknowledge what had gone on between him and Jensen. Kept a prisoner, Jared was ashamed that he still felt a sharp stab of jealousy prick him when he pictured his captor with someone else. He should have only been filled with righteous indignation at this point, eclipsing even the guilt he carried with him every, single day. But there was still that poker of red-hot pain when he saw Matthew and Fannah. He was a stupid, stupid man.

A high pitched wail started up, shaking him from his thoughts. On the opposite side of the pool, Samir was playing what looked like a large flute with a flared end and another had a pair of bass drums. The wind instrument’s sound was strident, with a timbre resembling a bagpipe, offset by the bass drums that grounded it. Moving in front of the men was Fannah. Dressed in baggy, red pants and a maroon sash that lay low on her hips, she wore a black top that barely covered her breasts, leaving her stomach and hips on full display. Jared's face grew scorching hot at the display, although no one else seemed to take offense at the sight of so much flesh on view. He had forgotten his own indecency for the moment, dressed not much better (or worse) than she was.

Standing proudly in front of the musicians, she raised her arms to the heavens and began to twist and undulate them in a manner Jared had never seen before. It was as if her limbs had no bones, but flowed like quicksilver in the glinting sunlight. As the tempo picked up, so did her movements. In no time at all, her whole body was undulating in time with the rhythm. The way she danced, if it could even be called dance, was obscene. And yet, no one was bothered. In fact, many of the concubines moved closer to get a better view. Even Jared, who should have been mortified and shocked (and he was, he told himself), found her to be hypnotic. Torn between embarrassment and nervous excitement, he couldn't keep his eyes off of the Egyptian woman.

“She’s _almeh_ ,” Genevieve whispered and Jared startled. He had completely lost track of where he was.

Leaning down to the shorter woman’s face, he murmured, “I don’t know that that is.”

“It’s like a courtesan. Fannah was trained to sing and dance and even recite poetry,” Genevieve replied and then gave Jared a long, assessing look. “What can you do?”

The question caught Jared off guard and he turned his complete attention towards the other woman. “What do you mean?”

“What can you do to entertain our Sheikh?” she elaborated.

“I-I am supposed to entertain him?”

She shrugged. “It would increase your chances of being called back.”

Jared laughed, but it was a joyless bark. “Believe me, I have no desire to have a second go at ‘your’ sheikh.”

“But,” Genevieve argued, “the more often you're called back, the better life is for you. Better place to sleep, more privileges, gifts…” And she waved her hand in an “and so on and so forth” manner.

Deciding he didn't want to argue with the only companion he had in the seraglio, Jared merely said, “I can’t do anything special.”

The woman furrowed her pretty brow and cocked her head to one side. “I don’t believe it. Everyone can do something.” Glancing about the courtyard, she finally settled on Fannah. “Can you dance? If not, I could teach you.”

Jared sucked in his lower lip and was taken back in time almost two years.

 

**_Montacute House, South Somerset, England at summer’s season end of 1851_ **

_He moved along the periphery of the room, out of his league and as unsure as a newborn foal. August was waning fast and the majority of the ton, along with those that clung to their periphery, had congregated at Montacute House for the final soirée of the summer. It was an event that marked the end of the season, with most families of import migrating back to their London townhouses for the autumn and winter. Jared’s family would soon follow suit as well, with James and Jensen returning to university. And Jared wasn’t sure how he felt about that particular departure. Certainly, he would miss his dear brother, but Jensen was another matter._

_He still burned at the thought of how he had shamelessly touched the man only a week prior, during that poor excuse for a fishing expedition. Brushing his toes against Jensen hadn’t been an accident and he had surprised himself with the nearly wanton way he had behaved. But Jensen’s presence excited him as nothing ever had before. Even now, he trembled at the memory of Jensen’s lips against his and his hand unconsciously dragged against them at the recollection. A sharp note from the cellist nearby roused him from his daydream and, casting eyes nervously about, he checked to see if anyone had noticed if something had been amiss with him. However, as usual, no one even spared him a second glance To notice, let alone comment on his wool gathering. ._

_Dressed as most of the other gentlemen in attendance, Jared did not stand out overly. Granted, his cravat was a daring choice in emerald green (that the shade matched Jensen’s eyes was purely coincidental), but his starched, white shirt and superfine swallowtail black suit were_ de rigueur _. Turning to face the couples that were taking a turn on the floor of the Great Hall, Jared was enchanted by the music and_ _the_ _swirling, gemstone hues of the women’s gowns. As the rich fabrics caught the light on their folds, the dresses reminded Jared of peacocks and he laughed to himself how nature had reversed itself since the males were usually_ _the ones with the elegant plumage. Not nearly as noticeable, there were a few pairs of men dancing together, somber suits and matching expressions. Leaning slightly against a paneled wall, Jared admired them with no little envy._

To be so free and comfortable _, he thought,_ must be heaven _._

 _Once again, he caught himself and corrected his line of unacceptable_ _thinking. His father’s plans for him were quite clear and falling in love with a man, never to carry on the family name, was not even humored, let alone tolerated._ _But his family_ _were nowhere in sight. As far as he knew, his father had sequestered himself in the company of_ _a number of business associates, while his mother had cloistered herself with many of the other matrons in the back_ _parlor. James was somewhere about, although Jared suspected his brother_ _had either snuck into the kitchens for a quick bite (again)_ _or found an unattended, young lady to pass a few minutes in pleasant conversation. He couldn’t blame him for having disappeared. James had sacrificed a good amount of his summer’s_ _break playing the middleman and giving Jared the tiniest taste of freedom away from his parents’ ever_ _watchful eyes_ _. He certainly didn’t expect his older brother to hold his hand for the evening, even if his company was sorely missed. Steeling himself, Jared pushed away from the wall in a weak attempt to mingle. His father had been most concerned that Jared make a good impression at such an important event, although not concerned enough, apparently, to oversee his youngest’s_ _attempt at said interactions_ _. Jared was thankful for small favors._

 _Nodding and murmuring greetings when appropriate, he made his rounds throughout the large room. One or two young ladies blushed prettily as he passed, whispering to chaperones behind the cover of their fluttering fans. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. While extremely appreciative of the female form, he never felt more than a passing interest when he was in their company. Of course, to be honest, until he he had been in Jensen’s company, he’d never felt more for_ any _individual._

_Jensen._

_The man had managed, even in regalia no different from any other gentlemen in attendance, to create a stir with his entrance. Claiming the family carriage was too full, the senior Padalecki had none too subtly attempted to prevent Jensen from accompanying them. But Jensen, resplendent in his black suit, waistcoat and pure white cravat, had merely bowed and said he would follow on a mount, something utterly unheard of. The weather was more than hospitable, he had told George as he tugged on sleek, black gloves, and he would see them when they arrived at Montacute House. It was no surprise when Jensen, crop in hand and sans hat, had passed their carriage on the road not a quarter of an hour later, coat tails flapping in a most decidedly mocking fashion, and arrived at their mutual destination long before their party did. Jared had successfully stifled his glee within the cramped confines of the coach by simply replaying the sight of Jensen with gloves and crop in hand over and over again in his mind’s eye. He had appeared so forceful and commanding, without the underlying threat of disapproval that Jared’s father maintained, as though he might demand something of you and then reward you lavishly for capitulating. Jared had shivered despite the late summer heat._

_Without rhyme or reason, Jared drifted throughout the hall, managing to avoid entrapment on the dance floor when several ladies and one gentleman had been bold enough to approach him, and escaped via the small hallway at the north end of the room. The tiny hallway he found himself in, where more than one man appeared to be catching their breath as they patted their foreheads and necks with pocket squares, separated the west facing drawing room from the eastern facing parlor. Having little desire to make pleasantries with the contemporaries of his mother, he opted to peek into the drawing room, which had been set asides this evening for the privacy of the men. He was not too surprised to find that while several stood by the open doors to the gardens below and were discreetly smoking, the majority had gathered around several, specialized tables and were gambling. What did surprise him was to discover Jensen in a heated game against their host, William Phelips, at the center table._

_Trying his hardest to be discreet, Jared edged his way farther into the room until he was standing in the midst of the audience Jensen and Sir William had garnered. While there were another two gentlemen at the table, judging by the stack of checks he had apparently amassed, Jensen was the man to best. Sir William, standing in the special cut out of the oval shaped table, was playing as the banker. With a hand on the dealer’s box, he said, “I am calling the turn.”_

_Jared knew enough about the game_ Pharo _to recognize that call was the special bet that occurred at the end of a round. It was the one time the odds were truly stacked in favor of the banker as the object was to predict the order of the last three cards – Banker’s, Player’s and the Hock. Sucking the majority of his lower lip into his mouth, Jared stared at Jensen’s hands and the sure way he maneuvered his checks and placed his bet before giving Sir William a curt thrust of his chin. Jared nibbled on his lip anxiously. When the final three cards were revealed, even though he couldn’t get a clear look at them, Jared knew Jensen had won by the way his host’s head and shoulders had deflated at the sight of them._

_“Five to one odds,” he overheard a man off to his left proclaim in awe. “Lucky bugger.”_

_“Well, the game is practically named after him,” his companion had snorted, nodding to an overturned card at the edge of the table. “Spitting image, I'd say.”_

_Straining on tiptoes, Jared realized they were playing with an older, French deck when he spotted the stylized pharaoh painted on the back._

_“Doesn’t have to cheat when he’s practically a bloody pharaoh himself, eh?” the first man added knowingly. “Probably gave him an unfair advantage, like putting a curse on Sir William.” And the two chuckled over their theories._

_Jared fumed silently. Intellectually, he understood that Jensen faced bigoted attitudes wherever he went. His own father hardly let a chance pass him by to offer up some sort of stinging remark. But to hear them bandy about such crude slang and misplaced accusations regarding Jensen in “polite” company was infuriating. Jared was insulted on the other man’s behest. He shot a glance towards him, but Jensen and Sir William were conversing softly, heads bowed with their host gesturing first towards Jensen’s wagers and then the veranda with Jensen nodding along. The older man either had not heard the two buffoons chortling or decided they weren't worth the effort of acknowledging. Judging by Jensen’s comportment, Jared deduced it was the latter. Somehow sensing that Jensen would be more agitated to discover Jared had been a witness to the offhand remarks, he ducked out of the room before the other man was aware of his presence._

_Without sparing the crowd of men in the hallway any consideration, Jared pushed and shimmied his way back into the Great Hall as the piano trio were finishing their latest piece. Jared moved far enough away from the hallway so that when Jensen finally returned, he wouldn't know Jared had been watching him. He debated over a selection of beverages a servant carried on a silver tray when Jensen reappeared in the Hall, tucking away a folded document into his inner coat pocket and looking rather satisfied with himself. Curiosity flared briefly within Jared, but that flame quickly morphed into anger as he saw the way some of the ladies turned their noses when Jensen moved past them, only to chatter behind their fans as soon as he was barely out of earshot. The men were hardly better, offering smiles to his face and then sneers at his back. Jared ground his teeth in vexation at the hypocritical showng. He wanted to shout at them all and harangue them for their duplicitous behavior when the trio began a new song – a waltz – and he had an idea. Snatching a flute of champagne off the tray and downing the drink in nearly a single go, Jared returned the empty glass to the wide-eyed servant and walked across the hall, moving through the throng with a decisiveness he wouldn't have believed himself capable of displaying. More than a few heads turned his way, but he paid them no heed. He didn’t stop until he was only a few feet from Jensen, who had watched him with a bemused and sardonic expression from the moment their eyes had met._

_With the swell of chamber music rapidly filling the room, and for the benefit of anyone who cared to stare (and there more than a few pairs of eyes eagerly fixated on them), Jared bowed slightly and said rather loudly, “Sheikh Ankour, won’t you come dance?”_

_The immediate cluster of onlookers were dead silent._

_Smirking, Jensen stepped closer. “But I hardly know – ”_

_“Doesn’t matter,” Jared cut him off, holding out his hand. “I’ll teach you.” His cheeks colored rosily as he stood there, heart pounding, waiting for Jensen to make a move._

_And the man did not disappoint._

_Like some lethal predator, some great, black cat from the jungle, Jensen practically stalked over to Jared until they was sharing the same air. With easy grace, Jensen raised his right hand and smoothed it against the small of Jared’s back, fingers splayed. Jared felt the touch through the layers of his suit like a brand. The older man, with infinite slowness, dragged the back of his left hand’s fingertips against Jared’s right arm, trailing a serpentine path along the expensive material of Jared’s coat, until he hooked them over Jared’s proffered hand. The calloused fingers closed against his and Jared swallowed hard at the firm grasp._

_Pulling Jared until he was flush against his chest, all the while the fabric from their suits hissing and crinkling because of the friction, Jensen corrected, “I meant, I hardy know you.”_

_“Nonsense,” Jared replied, slow grin cutting those damnable creases into his cheeks._

_And with that, Jensen turned and pirouetted them into the center of the floor. The music, slow at first, gradually picked up in tempo, but Jensen never misstepped. Jared marveled at how effortlessly Jensen maneuvered them between the pairs of dancers, who were nothing more than a kaleidoscope pattern of colors at the corners of his eyes, shifting and tumbling in time to the music. They twirled faster and faster and Jared wasn't sure if it was because of the golden liquor or his foolhardy show of bravado or the way that Jensen was focused solely on him, but he tossed back his head and laughed. What made the instance even more amazing was Jensen joining him a heartbeat later. It was like they were the only two in the world._

_Breathless, Jared gulped at the air when they finally slowed at the break in the music. He was absolutely giddy and wondered if Jensen could possibly be as affected. But one look into the other man’s verdant, green eyes and he had his answer._

_“Shall we take another turn?” Jensen asked him huskily._

“Yes,” Jared forced out. “I know how to dance. I-I’m suddenly not feeling terribly well. I think I will return to my room after all,” he informed the woman and hastily grabbed for his discarded clothing. Without giving her a chance to dissuade him from his change of heart, he slipped back into his shirt as he stood and didn’t even bother to button it as he rapidly fled the courtyard, with more than one pair of eyes trailing his hasty departure. He couldn’t breathe, and the walls and people were closing in on him, despite all the actual space. His room wouldn't be much better, but at least he wouldn't have to pretend to be something he wasn't. And what he most definitely wasn't was a person complacent about what lay ahead of him. He wasn't prepared to have the last shred of his feelings for Jensen completely sullied, whether he deserved it or not. He simply wasn't.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending how one looked at it), Jared was left alone for the remainder of the morning and well into the afternoon. He alternated between pacing and curling up on his narrow bed, either too full of nervous energy to hold still or too overcome. When there was finally a knock at the door, he was almost relieved. Almost.

“Yes?” he croaked.

“May I enter?” came the odalik’s familiar voice.

And, really, what was Jared supposed to say to that? Refuse? “Enter,” he finally replied.

Assad opened the door. Jared spotted Worthy and Wisdom standing behind the other man and tensed up. Apparently they came prepared if Jared wasn’t willing. The odalik crossed the threshold, carrying a small bundle under his arm, the Chief Eunuch trailing in his wake. Wisdom took up a position by the doorway.

“I didn't say that you could come in,” Jared glowered at the taller man, finding his voice despite everything. “Imshi!” he snapped.

Worthy took in the way Jared was twisted up on the bed and grinned. “Within these walls,” the eunuch replied in perfectly accented English, “I can go wherever I choose.” The man spoke English after all. Wasn’t that simply dandy.

“Then let me enunciate,” Jared practically snarled as he sat up, his earlier hopelessness forgotten. “Get. Out.”

Assaf looked over his shoulder and whispered quickly in Arabic. Although he hesitated, the other man eventually retreated until he had crossed back over the threshold. Jared knew it changed nothing, but he claimed it as a win anyway. He took what small victories he could.

Adjusting the bundle he carried, Assaf fidgeted under Jared’s intense stare. “It is nearly time,” he finally said, “and I have brought the items you will need for tonight.”

Despite his bravado, Jared’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. “And what could I possibly need besides my freedom.”

Assaf tilted his head and smiled weakly in commiseration. “You know that is not something I can do for you.”

“Can I say ‘no’?” Jared whispered, small and uncertain.

“You can say it,” Assaf answered, “but a concubine’s refusal has no meaning. Here,” he added, offering the bundle to Jared.

Squeezing his hands to stop their trembling, Jared sucked in a deep breath and held out his hands to accept what Assaf had brought him. The bundle contained a simple shirt and pants, silky soft and pure white. Wrapped up with them were two containers, neither bigger than one of Jared’s fists. Jared regarded them uncomprehendingly before turning his blank gaze back to the odalik with a shake of his head. Assaf shifted from one foot to the other, appearing uneasy and slightly embarrassed.

“The larger is an oil you are to smooth on after you wash,” he explained, before falling silent.

“And the other?” Jared asked, rolling the vial between his fingers curiously.

Assaf raised his eyebrows. “It is for…” and he trailed off, sounding as though Jared should know what it was meant to be used for.

“For?” he asked again, growing snappish in his unease.

The odalik’s eyes skittered about the room, as though the answer might be hidden there, before finally facing him again. “Have you ever lain with someone?” he asked bluntly.

“I don’t see how that’s any business of yours,” Jared sputtered.

“If you have, then you know what that is for,” Assaf reasoned.

Jared furrowed his brow and regarded the vial again, even as his face slowly pinked up. His knowledge of carnal delights was woefully lacking. He had, at one point, planned to discreetly question his brother James about such matters. His parents had been tight-lipped all his life and considering how his childhood illness had led to their incorrect assumptions that he practiced self-abuse, Jared had had little interest in the topic. But meeting Jensen had changed that, just as losing him had purged any desire to know more from his mind once again. And now he sat shamefaced before a stranger, still none the wiser about anything worldly.

“I don’t know what it is for,” he admitted.

Assaf nodded. “Have you ever been with a woman?”

Jared shook his head in the negative.

“A man?” he prodded hopefully.

Jared shook his head again, ducking down so that his fringe formed a curtain over his lowered eyes.

What proceeded was an awkward, one-sided conversation as the odalik tried his best to explain what Jared was to use the second vial for. Even though the man had to struggle at times to find the English phrasing he needed, Jared eventually understood.

“You need to be ready in all ways,” he added and motioned for Jared to follow him out of the room.

One glimpse at the eunuchs confirmed they would take him by force if he refused and Jared momentarily toyed with the idea. But, in the end, he acquiesced. What difference would it make if he appeared before Jensen battered and bruised or not? He would still end up at the man’s feet. Better to do it strong and whole, not cowering or simpering like a toady. He clutched the items against his chest and stood up, walking tall behind Assaf and ignoring the eunuchs, who fell into step behind him as one unit.

Assaf led him to the water closet and stopped by the door. “Wash yourself clean and prepare yourself.” Seeing Jared’s slight wavering, he murmured, “If you don’t do it, they will.” And he flicked his gaze to Worthy.

Jared marched into the water closet of his own accord and shut the door behind him. The afternoon light glistened softly on the tiles, painting the walls gold. Almost mechanically, Jared stripped down and began to wash himself, mind awhirl. He quivered under the sluice of warm water, wondering if he could wash away what was about to happen. Scrubbing himself dry with a clean linen, he eyed the two containers of liquid with disdain. Yanking the first one open, he sniffed it hesitantly. The slightest hints of clove and citrus mixed with something woody assailed his senses, not unpleasant. Without much regard, he poured a handful out and slathered it over his limbs and torso, mindful of his piercings, although they had healed remarkably well. Perversely, a small part of Jared had hoped the damned things would have shown some signs of corruption, but his body betrayed him by accepting them quickly enough. The only troubling thing about the jewelry that lingered was the strange sensations he experienced whenever he accidently brushed them against anything.

When he was done and the oil was nothing more than a subtle sheen on his skin, he grabbed for the second vial, Assaf’s thinly veiled threats echoing in his mind. He uncorked the tube with unsteady hands. Chewing his lower lip, he came to a decision. He tipped the vial to one side and allowed the liquid to drizzle out onto the floor and watched as it wound its way down the center drain, along with his used bathwater. Rolling his shoulders, he nodded to himself over the decision. No matter what else would happen, he would not be complicit in his own rape.

Rape.

If Jensen did anything to Jared, it would be _rape_. And that thought chilled him to the marrow. He hadn’t known Jensen for very long in the grand scheme of things, but Jared had seen him in many moods – happy, relaxed, joyful, sad, livid and devastated. He supposed there was the outside chance he could be very, very mistaken, but in his heart of hearts, he _knew_ Jensen was incapable of such a heinous crime. It simply wasn’t a part of the man’s makeup. He let out a long, shaky breath. Jared had no idea how their meeting might go. Jensen had every right to rail at him, perhaps even resort to a show of physical violence, but he suddenly believed it wouldn’t be more than that.

Gaining a modicum of confidence, Jared rationalized that what lay before him was an opportunity to appeal to the man he had truly known for such a brief period and he wouldn’t waste the chance. He slipped on the surprisingly modest clothing and left the water closet wrapped up in the belief that all was not lost. “Here,” he said in a surprisingly normal tone as he handed Assaf the two, empty containers.

Assaf perused his exposed skin briefly and appeared satisfied with what he saw. “Good, this way.”

And with that, the odalik led Jared along the familiar pathway through the dormitory and out along the main corridor. Throughout the walk, Jared continued to grow certain that the evening was not the terror-filled event he had made it out to be. He would face Jensen, perhaps try to explain if given the chance, but stand his ground in the end. He was entertaining various scenarios in his head to such a degree that he was shocked to discover himself at the stairs to the Valide’s apartments. He hadn’t seen the First Kadin since that odd luncheon where she had left him filled with unease, her strangely familiar words haunting him as he struggled unsuccessfully to recollect where he had heard them before. He had no idea what they might be doing here and he faltered in his steps.

“Please,” Assaf waved the way, “the First Kadin is waiting.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Jared stuttered.

Seeing how confused he was, Assaf did something he hadn’t done since that first morning in the harem – he touched Jared. The pat on his shoulder was light, but reassuring. “She only wishes to speak with you before you are brought before the sheikh, nothing more.”

Jared slowly went up the stairs, further concerned that Assaf had seemingly abandoned him. Only Wisdom and Worthy accompanied him, with the Chief in the lead. The man didn’t even bother to knock, but opened the doors and entered, leaving Jared no choice but to trail behind him. He was distantly aware of Wisdom closing the doors after they entered. The click when they locked rattled Jared and the calm he had been experiencing began to grow brittle with every passing second. He gave the receiving chamber’s terrace only a cursory glance, the setting sun a bloated, orange disk low in the sky, before he found himself inside the second chamber, once again surrounded by sights reminiscent of home. But the décor, most likely due to his building nerves, appeared more foreboding than before. And as was the case the last time, Jared found the room chilly, which defied all logic, given how hot the day had been.

“Aren’t you a sight,” Alaina cooed. Turning to one side, he spotted the woman, stunning in a jacket and gown of deepest maroon, on a settee. “You can wait for us in the first chamber,” she added to Worthy with a flick of her sea-green eyes, summarily dismissing the men. They bowed and took their leave. It dawned on Jared that she had spoken in English to the eunuchs. Apparently Wisdom was fluent as well. It was another surprise in a day growing longer and more tiring by the second.

“Please, my dear, sit and pass a few minutes with me,” she waved her fingers towards a nearby wingback chair and Jared obliged her.

So much like something he would have sat in at home, the chair surprisingly didn’t comfort him. Instead, he was reminded of his situation as the silk pants he wore were like an extension of his skin. As the hard leather pressed against him, he felt as though he were perched on the seat completely naked. He dropped his gaze, shifting his bare feet nervously against the rich carpets underneath.

Obviously mistaking his actions as nerves over the coming evening, the First Kadin tutted softly, “Dear boy, whatever can I do to set your mind at ease?”

“Unless you were to tell me I am free to go,” Jared snorted, “I don’t think there is any succor you can offer me.” Peeking up at her through his lashes, he said more gently, “I am sorry. I don’t mean to sound rude.”

She sat upright and placed a manicured hand against his knee. Jared did his best not to react adversely to the unexpected contact. “No need to apologize to me. I had high hopes when we first met that you and I could be honest with one another. Those hopes have not faded on my part.”

Fixing what he wished was a sincere smile on his face, he answered, “And I, too, hoped I might find a confidant here.”

Alaina’s smile grew at the general declaration. “And you have, my boy. That is why I had them bring you here before your audience with the sheikh. I wanted the chance to offer you some small measure of advice and comfort beforehand.”

Jared swallowed with some difficulty as she mentioned “comfort”. His resolve flickered like a candle in stray breeze just then.

“I think I shall be able to bear up, so to speak. It will, in fact, be beneficial for me to finally have this meeting underway,” he informed her with some confidence, choosing language that made him sound in control.

Alaina regarded him curiously before her expression melted into one of sympathy. “Oh, Jared, I commend you for the face you are putting on. But I don’t think you understand how… _compelling_ the sheikh can be under these circumstances.”

Jared blanched. Her words were slowly undermining the supports he had created to bolster his convictions and allow him to approach Jensen without undue fear or worry. “I’m sure I will be able to state my case to him, appeal to his reason and resolve everything to our mutual satisfaction.” He found himself less certain of that than he had been back at the water closet, however.

Alaina shook her head sadly. “He will get what he wants, Jared. Trust me. He always does.” And she lowered her head to fuss with the folds of her skirt. “In point of fact, may I offer you some small piece of advice?” She looked at him entreatingly.

“Of course. I would appreciate anything you cared to share with me,” he told her, secretly not wanting to hear another word.

She looked from side to side, as though she were about to utter something scandalous, and whispered, “Give him what he wants. Don’t put up a struggle and it will be over before you know it.”

“A struggle?” he rasped with a strange click to his words, finding his throat suddenly drying up.

Alaina pressed her lips together, nodding sagely. “Once the deed is done, he will move on. He always does. And then you will be as free as anyone else within the harem. There then might be the opportunity for you and me to see about perhaps negotiating your freedom. I am not promising anything, mind you, but once he has shifted his attentions, he might be amenable to some sort of financial arrangement, considering your family’s importance. I would certainly attempt to broker such a thing on your behalf.”

Jared bobbed his head, but he had honestly stopped listening after the woman had implied that Jensen would _take_ what he wanted and had done so in the past. She spoke as someone who had firsthand knowledge of such matters and he couldn’t reconcile that with what he believed to be true about Jensen. But he could think of nothing, in that instance, to explain why she would lie about something so grave.

“My poor boy,” she murmured. “I only meant to offer you some words of support and I fear I’ve gone and terrified you instead. That was certainly not my intent.” Seeming to come to some conclusion, she rose from the settee and glided over to a cabinet in the corner. She carefully selected a pair of apéritif glasses and held them diagonal to one another in one hand, while she carried a stoppered decanter by the neck in another. Setting the glasses down on the side table, she poured a measure of the dark liquid into each glass before offering him one.

Jared made an abortive movement to refuse, but she pressed the crystal into his hands. “A touch of ‘Dutch Courage’ to see you through,” she insisted.

Jared regarded the dark liquor with vacant eyes. He had little tolerance for the stuff, but, perhaps, like at that fateful soirée, the stuff would give him the resolve he needed to persevere. Without thought, he knocked back the entire amount and licked his lips. Whatever it was, the liquor was thick and slightly sweet, wetting his parched throat wonderfully. He missed the sly smirk Alaina cut him as she quickly refilled the glass. He downed it as well, suddenly glad as the warmth pooling slowly in his belly began to offset the effects of the chilly room. His eyes settled on the cut crystal bottle and he wondered what type of cordial it was. Squinting, he thought he could make out flowers plastered up against the glass.

“Are there flowers in this?” he said aloud, although he hadn’t planned to, his tongue getting away from him unexpectedly.

Alaina toyed with the rim of her glass, dipping a nail in the liquid before placing it against her tongue and licking it clean. “Yes, there are a few lotuses from the pools below. This is a special beverage I used to share with the previous sheikh. It helped make my ‘duties’ more pleasant,” she grinned.

Jared had caught sight of some blue flowers floating in the waters of the First Kadin’s gardens, but he was no horticulturist. They meant nothing to him. He hummed distractedly as she refilled his glass again. He couldn’t deny that the alcohol was settling his nerves quickly. No longer was he anxious. In fact, he felt surprisingly calm. Catching sight of Alaina’s bookcase, he remarked, apropos of nothing, “I truly would like to read Blake’s _Europe_ sometime, you know.”

“Of course, dear Jared,” Alaina agreed, leaning over to caress his cheek. He unknowingly leaned into the touch and she laughed softly.

“This is quite good,” he explained to her, as though it was suddenly very important that she was made aware of that fact.

“I agree,” Alaina replied, setting her mostly untouched drink on the side table. “I’m glad I was able to share it with you before you go to Jensen.”

Jared leaned back in the chair and sipped his third serving. The unyielding leather along his back was surprisingly comforting. No longer cold, Jared grabbed at the collar of his shirt with his free hand and ineffectively fanned himself with it. But the bursts of warm air that puffed up from his chest and hit his neck and chin did little to cool him. “Is it warm in here?” he heard himself ask.

Alaina giggled delightedly. “I do think it is growing warmer,” she agreed. “Perhaps if you loosened a few buttons?” she suggested solicitously.

“Capitol idea,” Jared agreed, placing his glass down somewhat unsteadily. He fumbled with the tiny pearls, but the fastenings eluded his clumsy thumbs, which had magically multiplied on his hands. Before he knew it, Alaina was standing before him, urging him to his feet. He complied, but wondered why the room had started to sway like his cabin on the _Northfleet_.

“Let me,” she purred and slid her fingers along the front of his shirt, tugging on one button after another, easily popping them free. Instead of finding the touch undesired, Jared felt a frisson trip up his spine. And when her fingers brushed against his rings, he hissed faintly. Something below his waist was throbbing slightly in response.

Blinking his eyes with deliberate slowness, Jared noticed that Alaina was studying him quite seriously. He wondered when she had taken a step away from him.

“One or two more items and I think you’re ready,” she decided, speaking as though he were no longer present.

Trying to maintain a steady posture, he watched as she moved back over to the liquor cabinet and leaned over to rummage about in one of the bottom drawers. When she turned back around, she held up two lengths of red silk in her hands. “Worthy,” she called out.

Trying to keep track of what was transpiring around him, Jared was finding the task easier said than done. His skin had started to tingle and the brush of his own silk shirt unexpectedly seemed teasing against his overheated skin and he was confused by that. He was rather confused by a great many things suddenly.

Alaina said something to the Chief Eunuch and handed him one of the strips of fabric. Stepping up behind Jared, he dropped the silk over Jared’s head and pulled it taut against his eyes, tugging it tightly in place. Jared sucked in a gasping breath and automatically raised his hands to pull the cloth free, but another pair caught his before he was able to do so.

“Shh,” the First Kadin soothed. “It will be better this way. Trust me,” she whispered in his ear and her breath raised goose flesh along his arms. Before he could think to say anything, his hands were bound at the wrists with what he could only guess was the other length of silk.

“Perfect,” he heard the First Kadin mutter before she added something in Arabic.

The darkness should have been disorienting, but Jared found it strangely soothing. Strong, solid hands grabbed him by his biceps and propelled him forward. He had no idea where he was being taken and no one spoke around him any longer. Once or twice he stumbled on nothing at all, but those hands held him upright with ease and he relaxed into the hold. Eventually, he lost track of time until he was abruptly no longer moving forward. While the hands held him in place, another set was at his waist, tugging his pants down.

“Wha?” Jared slurred, twisting his head from side to side.

The air was cool against his exposed skin and he trembled. With firm and impersonal touches, someone worked the metal off of his manhood and Jared couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped from between his lips. A deep chuckle rumbled up against his back and Jared swore he could feel the vibrations of that sound all the way to the roots of his hair. His pants were refastened and he found himself moving again, but it didn’t seem to be for as long.

“Kneel,” Worthy ordered gently against his eat and Jared sank to his knees in a controlled decent as his arms were released. Suddenly bereft of the support of the hands on his arms, he tipped forward, but managed to catch himself before falling flat onto the floor. Propping himself up by his bound hands, he heard the soft slip and slide of sandaled feet growing more and more distant. Without meaning to, his head drooped forward. He wet his lips periodically, growing warmer by the second. The wispy silk of his shirt practically chaffed against his skin and he twisted in his bindings. There was a relentless itch building inside of him.

After what seemed like an eternity alone, he heard the rhythmic slap of feet against marble before that sound came to a sudden end. The ensuing silence was broken by a single, harsh gasp.

“Jared.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it is in the tags, I will warn readers that the next chapter's title image is NSFW (artistic, male nude) so there are no unexpected surprises when you click on the chapter.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets the full, NC-17 rating, not to mention the dub-con and non-con tags!

Jensen grabbed the pitcher and dumped the warm water over his head. He scrunched his eyes closed as the water splashed over him, cutting away the day’s sweat and grime, but his muscles stayed knotted. He wasn't nervous, he told himself. He was excited. That was the only explanation for the way his heart thumped against his rib cage in a strange, uneven rhythm.

He'd spent the day in the company of his younger brother. Ever since they’d taken that day-trip before he'd been called away to Khawr al Udayd with Tahmoh and Jason, he had been reminded how much he enjoyed spending time with his half-sibling. Jake was quick-witted, sharp as a razor and so eager to soak up whatever knowledge he could, like a hyacinth would fresh water in the salt marshes. He flourished under any attention and Jensen was assailed once more with a twinge of regret that he had passed up multiple opportunities to spend time with him. The fact that the way his sibling looked at him with the same, adoring expression as Jared had regarded James had nothing to do with the stab of guilt twisting inside him. As he had listened to the younger man’s take on pressing matters of import, Jensen was again reminded that while Jake might be young, he was neither frivolous nor impulsive. He had an analytical approach to things that belied his age. Jensen was somewhat envious, listening to the different courses of action the younger lad proposed when Jensen had asked his opinion on the nearby pirates and, indirectly, the British envoy that would arrive later in the year.

For over an hour, Jake had practically given Jensen an oral treatise regarding the last, few years’ history of Qatar, from Sheikh Thani’s ill-fated alliance with the Saudis to the Saudi emir, Faisal, and his attempt to march into their territory. He pointed out how Bahrain’s leader, Khalifa, hadn’t hesitated to call in British assistance to stop him before and he suspected that in addition to sending his brother into the country this year, he would call on the British again, too, for support and intimidation. In all honesty, the talk had Jensen’s head spinning. As much as his father would have wished otherwise, Jensen never embraced the political machinations and game-playing that were part and parcel of ruling the region. But, to hear Jake speak on it, he managed to correlate the complex relationships and maneuverings to an elaborate chess match and, Jensen noted, he had the innate ability to predict a few moves ahead. Jensen was inordinately pleased with his sibling’s reasoning.

When he had finally cut the afternoon short, Jake had been disappointed. He pestered Jensen regarding his evening plans, trying to wheedle a way into including him in them. Jensen had blanched and reluctantly admitted to having an assignation planned with a concubine and there was no way Jake would be a part of the evening’s “entertainment”. His half-brother had deflated at the news and cast a disapproving glare Jensen’s way.

“I don’t know how you can do that and don’t tell me about tradition,” he had practically spat. “I’m sick to death of the word. Even if they exist under your care, there is nothing written that says that you have to…use…the concubines in such a manner. You could simply care for them and provide for them. At this point, you _owe_ them that, Jensen.”

“Jake,” he had sighed, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

But his younger brother merely frowned and shrugged off the touch. “No, brother, don’t bother with your patent lecture about how I am ‘too young’. Justify your actions to yourself however you see fit, but don’t convince yourself that I believe it, too. Because I don’t.” And the boy had left in a huff.

Shaking his head, Jensen toweled off briskly. He ran a considering hand along his newly-trimmed beard. He had attended to it only because it was long past due, not out of any need to appear neat or tidy, least of all to Jared. With the linen draped over his shoulders, he slipped on black sirwal and was reaching for the matching thobe when he heard muffled shuffling coming from his bedchamber beyond. Hastily leaving the key in the bath gate, he padded into the main chamber, feet clapping wetly on the smooth flooring. He snagged the linen still around his neck and half-heartedly blotted at his drying locks with one hand, expecting to see Worthy standing in his chamber. What he found instead caused him to stop so abruptly in his tracks that one would have thought an invisible wall had been erected in his path.

The servants had obviously come and gone as every candle and oil lamp had been lit. The room was bathed in burnished illumination, reflecting off every polished surface, casting a glow throughout the chamber that was framed in deep, warm shadows. And nearly in the center of the otherwise empty bedroom, Jared was waiting for him. Dressed in pure white, the boy was almost in the same position he had been in when he had first been brought before Jensen. On his knees, exposed and forlorn, the lad had a length of red wrapped about his hands. His head hung low. His long, dark hair covered his face like a mysterious veil.

“Jared,” he rasped, speaking before he even realized it and then cursing himself for the slip.

Jared raised his head and cocked it in Jensen’s direction, but the movement was stilted and bird-like. It was once the lad was facing him that Jensen caught sight of a similar strip of maroon covering his enigmatic eyes. He had been blindfolded.

“Jensen?” he whispered, hands sliding against the floor tiles.

Jensen let the linen he was drying himself with fall to the ground. Flustered, he turned away briefly before it dawned on him that Jared couldn't see him. In point of fact, Jared didn't even know if it was truly Jensen in the room with him. He straightened up. Silently stepping over until he was standing directly in front of Jared, Jensen couldn't help but applaud whoever had come up with the idea to present Jared to him in this fashion, tied up like a gift. A slow, feral grin curved along his full lips as he took in what was literally lying at his feet, utterly at his mercy. The mere thought of that vulnerability, completely at his disposal, tripped darkly up and down his spine. His smile grew, along with his desire.

“Jensen?” Jared asked again, tip of his pink tongue darting out to lick at his plush, lower lip.

Jensen wanted so badly to taste that plump flesh, recalling their past assignations, and lose himself in its sweetness. But he snapped out of it, pulling back when he noticed that he had actually leaned into the young Englishman when he had swiped at his mouth. Jared’s kisses were as false as his promises and he wouldn't fall victim to them a second time.

“Jared,” he replied, surprising himself with how calm he sounded when his heart rattled in his chest.

Jared whipped his head front and center, clearly trying to track where Jensen was standing. “Jensen –” he began, but Jensen stopped him.

“No, Jared. Have you already forgotten? There is no ‘Jensen’ here for you to beguile with your sweet lies,” he informed the bound man as he slowly circled around to stand behind him. Jared tried to twist around and follow Jensen’s movements, but couldn't maintain his balance. He leaned forward, propped up by his conjoined hands, his partially undone shirt dangling open enticingly.

“Jensen,” he tried again, lips parted.

But Jensen wouldn't hear of it. He sank gracefully to his knees directly behind Jared and framed the boy’s body with his strong arms. Resting his chin on the boy’s left shoulder, breathed hotly into his ear, “You will call me ‘Sheikh’ or you will remain silent. Do you understand?”

Jensen watched, mesmerized, as goose flesh raced up along Jared’s neck and the lad shivered slightly. He twisted in his bindings, but it didn’t look like the motion was entirely one of discomfort.

“Jensen, I –” he tried a final time, but Jensen snagged his hair with his right hand, tugging Jared’s head farther to the right.

“Call me anything else but my title and I will gag you, boy,” he whispered harshly. Pressing up against Jared’s back, Jensen didn’t miss the way the lad trembled against his chest. Unable to resist, he sucked the tender lobe of Jared’s ear into his mouth, before releasing it only to slowly lick his way up the curved, outer shell. He continued to drag his nose through the slightly damp curls across and down along the base of Jared’s slender neck, breathing in the at once familiar and foreign scent of his soap on the boy’s skin. The citrus and clove, mingled with Jared’s own, unique notes, made the smell strangely exotic and there was a stirring in his groin that wouldn't be denied.

Moving the silky material of the boy’s shirt aside, Jensen exposed the place where neck met shoulder on Jared’s right and he mouthed his way up the taut skin until his lips brushed against the boy’s other ear. Nudging the soft hairs that curled protectively over the shell with his nose, Jensen both felt and saw another wave of goose flesh appear in the wake of his touch.

“Does this frighten you, Jared?” he rasped, candlelight wavering in the ghost of a breeze that cooled nothing.

He watched with rapt fascination as Jared sucked in his bottom lip, a gesture the older man was all too familiar with as one of nerves, but not necessarily of fear. Jared raised and lowered his head haltingly.

Swiping his nose around the baby-fine hairs at the base of Jared’s neck, Jensen returned to the boy’s left side. He saw that Jared twisted and squirmed where his wrists met, but the lad was almost imperceptibly leaning back against Jensen. He surged forward and nipped at the already-abused lobe. When he released it with a wet pop, he exhaled, “Does this excite you, too?”

Without realizing it, Jensen held his breath, waiting. When the answer came, it was nearly undetectable. But Jared nodded his head a second time. He exhaled harshly against Jared and finally laid his hands on the lad.

Trailing his fingers up the firm, yet surprisingly slender, muscles of Jared’s arms, Jensen carefully traced a path along the collar of Jared’s thobe before slipping his fingers inside and slowly pulling back the thin material, exposing more of the boy’s swan-like neck and back, mesmerized by the way the candlelight danced against him. The subtle sheen of his skin had an ephemeral quality that was only enhanced by the beginnings of the henna markings Jensen saw, which disappeared tantalizingly under rest of the boy’s shirt. He slowly curled his hands around the newly bared shoulders and couldn't deny the satisfaction that warmed him as Jared tilted his head back and rested it against the crook of Jensen’s neck, his long hair silkier than any scrap of fabric he wore. Jensen scraped his cheek against Jared’s smooth one, delighting in the additional shivers it elicited in the lad until his gaze was caught on something unexpected glistening on Jared’s chest.

Tightening his grip, Jensen leaned over Jared’s shoulder to gain a better view. Sure enough, it wasn't his imagination, but twin rings of gold that glinted and winked in the flickering light. Jared had rings running through both his dusky nipples, which were peaked in rigid attention.

“What?” he gasped, barely above a whisper, shocked.

He dropped his hold on the boy and rose suddenly. Standing in front of the young Englishman once more, he grabbed Jared by his arms and yanked him to his feet. Jared’s head lolled back and forth bonelessly like a rag doll, but Jensen paid him no heed. He was transfixed by the sight of those golden loops that seemed to alternately taunt and tempt him in equal measure. He couldn't believe that Jared had allowed someone within the harem to pierce him in such a wanton way. The warm feelings that had been growing inside him were suddenly replaced by anger and frustration and betrayal. It was a taste in his mouth he knew too well – bitter and stale.

Inhaling harshly through his nostrils, Jensen pushed the material farther aside and ran his thumbs roughly up Jared’s torso, lingering slightly on the jewelry, his inspection somewhat hindered by Jared’s bound hands. The unmistakable gasp Jared let out left nothing to the imagination as Jensen watched his small nipples tighten even more under the attention. “So, it’s like that, is it?” Jensen accused him.

Jared’s head fell forward and he hissed with each sweep of Jensen’s calloused fingers against his gold hoops. “What?” he asked weakly, shaking his head side-to-side like a wet dog. But Jensen refused to answer him.

Instead, Jensen yanked Jared by his wrists, practically dragging the stumbling boy behind him. He cursed himself for getting caught up in the moment and forgetting that denying Jared any relief – any pleasure – had been his plan all along. It was painfully obvious that Jared had once again planned to beguile Jensen for his own gain, more than likely to secure his freedom, and was not above seduction to accomplish his goals. Well, Jensen would not be fooled a second time by the wily lad.

When Jared stumbled a third time as they crossed the room to the large, raised bed, Jensen grew frustrated. He whirled around, tugged Jared’s arms straight out, ducked down and hoisted the lad over his shoulder. Other than a startled whimper, he made no sound. Lighter than Jensen expected, he did his best to ignore the way Jared’s hands brushed against his backside. Crossing the distance in a few, sure steps, he practically threw Jared onto the bed and watched with grim satisfaction as the sudden change confused and disorientated the blindfolded Englishman even further.

Wasting no time, Jensen dropped down onto the soft bedding and crawled up alongside the younger man. Despite his upset, he tempered his touch to featherlight brushes against Jared’s oiled skin. But when Jared twisted in his direction and brought his bent arms up against his chest, pathetically covering himself, Jensen saw red.

“No,” he told Jared decisively as he caught the boy’s wrists easily in one hand. “You went to all the trouble to tease me and now I want to appreciate the sight.”

“Jensen, what?” Jared gasped as the older man pulled his hands above his head.

“I won’t warn you again, Jared. Say another word without addressing me properly and I will gag you,” he growled as he took the ends of the silk bindings and tied them efficiently through the carved headboard of his father’s bed. There was nearly a foot’s play between those knots and the ones around Jared’s wrists and that would be more than enough. And as he checked over his work, he surreptitiously slipped a questing finger between the silk and Jared’s skin, satisfied that it wasn’t too tight, though he would never admit to having worried about the lad’s comfort if asked directly.

“Now,” he husked, “let me admire your handiwork more properly.” When Jared’s legs shifted restlessly, Jensen added, “Do I need to bind your legs as well?” He smirked when Jared stilled.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Jensen slowly pulled away first one and then the other side of Jared’s opened thobe, revealing the smooth expanse of the boy’s chest. With nearly butterfly touches, Jensen skated his fingers gently along Jared’s torso, secretly delighting in the firm flesh and understated strength, and circled the lad’s tender nipples. He watched as the skin puckered under his ministrations and the nubs grew more peaked. Despite his threat to tie Jared’s legs, he had no intention of doing so. But he also had no plans to reassure Jared of that fact, either. Especially when he saw the way the boy twitched and flinched under the delicate assault. He couldn't resist and finally teased one ring, twisting it slightly and Jared’s back arched off the bed completely. His own cock twitched and filled with interest.

Dropping his head down, Jensen replaced his finger with his clever tongue, tracing and circling the path his fingers had travelled. When he gently took the metal hoop in his mouth and tugged once, he delighted in the deep moan the action wrung out of Jared. The boy might have agreed to the piercings as a way to tempt Jensen, but he could see that it had come back around to bite Jared in the arse. The lad clearly had no idea how overwhelming the sensations would be and he was now victim and not tempter.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jensen murmured as he released the skin-warmed gold, pressing his lips around the aroused flesh and flicking the hard, little nub with his tongue while teasing Jared’s other nipple with his fingers, brushing his calloused skin back and forth against it. For an instant, as he peered through his thick lashes at Jared’s face, he was disappointed to only have the blank canvas of red silk staring back at him and he felt disconnected in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Yes,” Jared whimpered as he sunk down onto the bed, calling him back from his troubling thoughts.

“Let’s find out what else you enjoy,” Jensen replied. What he had meant to sound like a threat came out as more of a promise.

He shook his head and pushed himself up to his knees. With both hands, he tripped his fingers along Jared’s slim toro, delighting in the hitches of the boy’s breathing as he did so and the way a warm flush was slowly coloring his skin. Spanning the boy’s slim waist with his hands, he let his gaze roam lower. He almost glanced away, afraid he was revealing too much of himself to Jared in the way that he stared. But then he reminded himself again that he had no need to school his features as he took in the younger man’s body. Jared couldn't see him and that fact – that absolute _freedom_ – was intoxicating in and of itself. He decided to exult in it.

With deft hands, Jensen caressed the skin around Jared’s navel, eventually succumbing to the need to dip his tongue into the inviting hole, savoring the slightly saltiness of the skin there. Only his firm grip on Jared’s sharp hip bones – sharper than he expected – kept the boy from arching off the bed a second time. His work-toughened thumbs brushed against the “v” the muscles there made and as he scooted lower, Jensen let them hook under the hem of Jared’s pants and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, pulled them down.

Sitting back on his haunches, Jensen scanned the revealed flesh with amazement and awe. Jared’s cock – long, pink and defenseless – sprang up as soon as he had slid the lad’s sirwal low enough, as though it had been eager to escape. Jensen found he couldn't stop staring at the miles of smooth, _completely_ bare skin revealed to his hungry gaze. Rougher than he meant to, Jensen yanked the trousers totally off of Jared, tearing something as he tossed them aside mindlessly in his need to see and touch everything, and he discovered the boy’s long legs were equally as naked. There was no hair to be found anywhere on his body.

“Look at you,” he breathed, dragging his hands from Jared’s thin ankles all the way up to his hips, studiously avoiding the Englishman’s straining manhood as he fondled every other part of him. “Just look,” Jensen said with wonder, fingers caressing the lad’s inner thighs expertly. His plans to seduce and then abandon Jared were growing more distant with each, reverent pass of his hand. Jared's skin was baby soft and delicate under his touch and he couldn't get enough as everything was finally revealed to his ardent gaze.

Lowering his head down to nose around the juncture of thigh and hip, Jensen breathed in more of that familiar scent and he vaguely wondered what it would be like to smell himself all over Jared. Mouthing along the base of the boy’s manhood, Jensen reveled in the helpless way Jared tossed and whimpered lowly at every lave of his tongue. Jensen took a moment and looked up the long expanse of Jared’s body to the way his damp curls were plastered against his forehead, lips parted and his breath escaping in short, hitching pants. He had done that. Despite whatever plans Jared had conceived, it was Jensen’s touch that was making him fall apart and he couldn't get enough of it.

“Let’s see everything you have to offer, since you've gone to so much trouble to please me,” he smirked as he adjusted his position and flipped Jared over with startling effortlessness onto his stomach, the red silk twisting easily with the movement. “And I am most pleased.”

“Oh,” Jared moaned, long and breathless as he began to rut against the mattress.

Jensen plastered himself against the boy’s back, using his weight to slow him down. “None of that,” he growled into Jared’s ear. “You move when I tell you to, or you don’t move at all. Understood?”

Jared didn't reply, but rubbed his head against the pillows silently and Jensen took that as a tacit sign of agreement. As he slid his hands up the distance of Jared’s arms, he felt the boy shift backwards against his body, legs falling open slightly, and Jensen couldn't stop the slow grin that spread across his lips. He had him exactly where he wanted Jared.

“Good boy,” he hissed and was rewarded with a subtle push back against his hips, the friction most welcome against his own throbbing cock. For a brief instance, Jensen was lost in the memories of a summer’s past, when the fish were biting and life had been oh-so-different and he allowed himself the momentary indulgence.

Licking along the sweaty nape of Jared’s neck, chasing the tangy flavor of the boy's delicious taste, Jensen began to undulate against the slim, warm body beneath him. It was everything he had been missing and everything that was wrong between them, all rolled up into a mess of conflicting emotions. “Jared,” he sighed, blood rapidly pooling south with desire and want.

“Jensen,” Jared moaned in response, twisting his head around as if he could look at the older man, “Jensen, please.”

Something in the beseeching tone pierced the fog that had been slowly enveloping Jensen’s mind. _This was not a seduction_ , he reminded himself, _but a punishment. A humiliation_. Pressing his forehead into the back of Jared's skull, needing that point of contact to ground himself, he snarled wordlessly. How could he have forgotten that? How could the duplicitous lad have led him astray once again?  How stupid could he continue to be? Biting into the flimsy material of Jared’s thobe, Jensen tore a small section and then, with hands that shook slightly, he grasped the shirt and ripped it asunder with a resounding screech of rending fabric. Then, brushing the ragged remnants of the shirt aside, Jensen took a lingering glance at the boy’s back.

From nearly his nape to buttocks, Jared had a long trail of words and symbols painted into his skin in the distinctive reddish-brown shades of henna. Desire for love, promises of hope and fidelity, even symbols of protection and fecundity adorned the virgin skin of his lean back. Jensen sneered at them as he grasped Jared’s skinny hips in his sure hands. Moving back enough to accommodate the boy, Jensen lifted Jared's hips up until they were clear of the bed. Jared’s arms were still stretched taut between the bindings and the headboard, with his forehead resting against the silk of Jensen’s sheets and his arse now on full display as he kneeled in supplication before the sheikh. The tattered remains of his shirt were pushed up on both sides, bunching at his forearms.

Jensen seized a moment and pulled away. With thoughtless movements, he tore at the string that held up his sirwal, and managed to free himself from the confines of his pants with jerky motions. Throwing the damaged clothing aside, Jensen was practically oblivious to the angry way his blood-red cock slapped against his stomach, too eager to press himself back against Jared again. Kneeling behind the pert mounds and wedging his hard cock in the inviting cleft of Jared’s arse, Jensen smoothed his hands along the younger man’s back, enjoying the slip and slide of firm muscles beneath his touch, thumbs unconsciously tracing the patterned henna. Slowly, deliberately, Jensen began to rock against him.

He wasn’t aware that his eyes had fluttered shut and his head dropped back, so caught up in the sensations of finally being this close to Jared with no barriers of any kind between them any longer.

“What are you doing to me?” Jared groaned softly, his voice muffled against a pillow even as he canted back in time, making Jensen think of horses.

Jensen huffed out a laugh and opened his eyes to enjoy the way that Jared moved against him. His own cock had started to drool, making the passes between Jared’s cheeks smoother. But something niggled at Jensen. The glides were too easy, too slippery for just his fluid and suddenly he had to know. He stopped his motion with some difficulty, his hips apparently willing to mutiny against him, and sat back on his heels. Raking his hands from the small of Jared’s back, he couldn’t help but kneed the firm muscles of his buttocks for a second before he slipped his thumbs into the crease and pulled them apart, baring that most intimate part of Jared to his sharp gaze.

The small, pink furl glistened in the half-light like a rosebud in summer’s rain. Jensen simply stared, finally seeing all of Jared. But he eventually roused from his stupor when he realized that it wasn’t only his juices that had moistened the skin there.

“You readied yourself,” he murmured.

“Wha –” Jared slurred, but his words ended on a long, broken sigh as Jensen lowered his head and licked along the muscle.

Jensen didn’t know what had come over him. Seeing the proof of Jared’s collusions re-ignited the flames of revenge that burned inside of him, reminded him of his plans. He would tease and arouse the boy, but ultimately leave him hard and aching. However, there was no reason not to sample what was on display, he reasoned, darting his tongue around the folds before spearing inside him. Only his steely grip on the boy’s backside prevented Jared from bucking back into his face as Jensen did so. Jensen would have laughed, but he was too surprised at the sugar-sweet taste he discovered within. Whatever oils he had used were like none Jensen was familiar with, and he counted himself as a man with some experience. Dipping back in for another sample of the irresistible flavor, Jensen found himself passing soothing touches along Jared’s flanks, which trembled minutely.

Stabbing his tongue repeatedly within the boy, he was gladdened to hear another moan pour out of Jared’s mouth, to know that he was coming undone. As he feasted on the boy’s arse, he couldn’t help but picture those slender, violinist fingers of Jared’s, slick with oil, working their way inside his body and loosening himself up for Jensen. Yet, even as he imagined it, he grew more unsettled. He found himself wondering how Jared had learned that skill and who he might have learned it from, reminding himself once again that the boy was no innocent.

Reluctantly, Jensen sat back up, taking some satisfaction at the way Jared’s fingers scrabbled against the pillow coverings. Keeping one hand on the small of the boy’s back, Jensen leaned forward to search under the pillows until his hand closed around the stoppered flask he had secreted there. Retrieving it, he bit into the cork and worked it free. He spat it to the side and then looked down at Jared, finally deciding on a course of action.

“Squeeze your legs together,” he ordered. Jared, however, was somewhat in a daze and slow to respond. Stretching out along the younger man’s back, Jensen repeated himself, but the words came out more like a plea. “Squeeze your legs together.” Jared said nothing but he did manage to clamp his thighs shut.

Jensen righted himself and proceeded to drizzle the oil from the flask on and around the crease of Jared’s arse. He continued to slather it along the lad’s thighs until the skin was shiny from hip to flanks. The older man poured more liquid into his cupped palm, dropping the near-empty flask onto the floor, and stroked his rigid cock with it. The touch of his hand wound him up, the friction making him harder still.

“Keep them like this, Jared,” he rasped and guided his turgid flesh between Jared’s thighs, brushing against that tantalizing, hidden entrance along the way. He kept one hand on Jared’s hip and the other clamped tightly around the base of his member to guide it and keep himself in check. He was close to spilling his seed like the greenest of boys at the mere brush of Jared’s flesh against his cock. And when Jensen finally pushed between the warmth of his boy’s thighs, he groaned long and loud.

He savored the hot pressure before he pulled back a few inches only to thrust forward again, eventually starting up a loose rhythm. “Tighter,” he hissed at Jared and the boy obeyed, squeezing harder with his shivering muscles. When his cock-head nudged against Jared’s sack, they both moaned in unison.

“Jensen,” and there was a tremble to the lad’s voice.

Thrusting faster, Jensen caressed Jared’s waist, thumb sinking into the divot above his backside. “Shh,” he soothed, lost in the myriad sensations cascading over him. “It’s all right. Together,” he promised. The way Jared moved beneath him reminded him of Shaitan as a colt and, like then, Jensen had no desire to terrify or dominate, only to lead and command so that they could move as one. He knew he was getting close to tipping over into the abyss of pleasure, his sack drawing up tight, when another moan from Jared made him snap open his eyes.

He saw those words in elegant script against the boy’s back dancing before him with their lies and it was like someone had dumped a pitcher of cold water over him. He snaked his hand from the younger man’s hip down to his manhood, gripping the hot length for the first time before he firmly squeezed the base of it, staving off the boy’s impending pleasure. He pulled himself out of the welcoming press of flesh and stripped his cock fast and carelessly, bordering on ruthless, until the pressure built up and he sprayed his release along Jared’s back and buttocks. He wrote his own message across Jared’s skin, the white fluid covering Assaf’s artwork and obliterating it from his sight. He swayed on his knees, breathing hard and fast, trying to center himself. Jared, still lost in the moment, continued to rock and cant his hips backwards into the phantom thrusts of Jensen’s absent member.

Blinking sweat from his eyes, Jensen seized those rolling hips and manhandled the boy until he was on his back again. Jared slammed his head against the pillows and thrust his hips into the air. He reeked of frustrated desperation and Jensen took grim satisfaction in that, since it was what he wanted after all. Surveying the damp skin on display, the flushed manhood smearing wetness against Jared’s trim belly, Jensen decided he could indulge himself for another minute before sending the young Englishman away in this painful and unsatisfied condition.

He lay alongside Jared’s strung out body and fondled the boy’s sack with surprising gentleness, alternating between rolling and tugging the heavy weight. Jared shivered and his legs thrashed restlessly against the onslaught.

“Feels good,” Jensen said quietly, “doesn’t it?”

‘Oh, yes,” Jared sighed. “So good. I never knew –”

Jensen didn’t give him a chance to say more, instead diving down to suck just the head of Jared’s nearly purple cock between his lips. It wasn’t the first time Jensen had ever taken another into his mouth, but it was the first time he did so with relish, yearning to know Jared’s flavor. Swirling his tongue around the flared head, Jensen moved his right hand lower along Jared’s stiff length, bunching up the silky skin against his lips with the jerking motion.

Stealing a look up, Jensen saw the way Jared’s hands twisted against his bounds and he could guess that the boy wanted to get them on his head, perhaps even force Jensen to hurry in his actions. Laughing darkly, the vibrations winding Jared up even more, Jensen savored the feeling of control he had. He was the one to dole out pleasure and he was the one to decide how much Jared would receive.

Pulling off with a slurping pop, Jensen tripped his finger along Jared’s stomach and painted one in the mess of desire that had collected in the divot of his belly. “I wonder,” he questioned the bound lad, “how you will like this?” And he slipped that wet digit down past Jared’s sack, skated across the thin skin behind his bollocks, before circling and tapping it against the wet, secret entrance hidden beyond. It was still wet and loose from his tongue and Jared’s own ministrations and Jensen slipped inside with no resistance.

Jared groaned and Jensen was hard-pressed not to follow as his finger was enveloped in the tight heat. His cock twitched in renewed interest and feebly tried to rise. Working it back and forth inside the smooth channel, Jensen watched as Jared’s toes curled and flexed. Picking up his tempo, he turned towards Jared’s face and was met with that silk wall and he frowned, and yearned for a connection, suddenly needing to see Jared’s eyes as he moved within his body.

Without missing a beat, he reached up with his left hand and worked the red material loose, eager to meet Jared’s colorful eyes with his own green ones. When the silk fell away, Jared raised his head like a weak newborn and blinked slowly. The blues and greens Jensen longed for had drowned in a sea of black desire. His fringe stuck lank against his brow and Jared licked frantically at his lips, the action leaving them glossy and all too inviting. Jensen pistoned his finger faster, now desperate himself to find that spot inside Jared that he knew would light the younger man up.

On his leisurely trip to England, Jensen had dallied in France for several, idyllic weeks. There, he had taken on a lover who was very vocal in describing exactly what and where he had liked to be touched, and had taught Jensen a new thing or two about pleasing a man. It had been a welcome lesson and he strove to repeat it with Jared. Bending his finger on a frantic pass, he rubbed up against a springy bundle and Jared cried out in aching surprise.

“Oh, Jensen,” he whined, biting his lower lip fiercely and thrashing his head from side to side as the older man rubbed against his discovery again and again.

As he pressed against the cluster, he saw Jared was close and he needed to be a part of that, needed to be with Jared in the moment. With one last scrape of his pared nail, Jensen freed his hand and surged up Jared’s body.

“Damn you,” he growled before slamming his lips against the boy’s even as Jared arched and writhed, wetness pulsing between them, searing Jensen’s skin.

The kiss was nothing like the ones they had shared before. It bordered on brutal as Jensen ate the harsh cry that slipped free as Jared’s body shuddered from the intense orgasm that rippled through him. Jensen plunged his tongue repeatedly in, tangling and twisting it with Jared’s. Their teeth clicked against each other and there was no finesse involved, simply animal need and want. Sliding to one side, Jensen slipped his hand between them, gripping Jared’s pulsing cock and stroked him through the fading waves of his pleasure. He pulled back, a string of saliva connecting their lips together, as he flicked his gaze back and forth between Jared’s dark eyes. The lad’s mouth was swollen and his lower lip quivered uncontrollably.

“Jensen,” he trembled.

“Jared,” he replied almost reverently. Wiping his right hand against the sheets, he reached up and undid the silk wrapped around the younger man’s wrists. Jared’s arms flopped uselessly above his head as he all but sank into the mattress. Jensen traced the edge of the lad’s quavering jaw once or twice, before leaning down and kissing him again, as soft as a breeze. It would have been so easy to lose himself in Jared and he was sorely tempted as he brushed a thumb against the beauty mark beside Jared’s pointed nose.

Stealing another kiss, he lifted his head away even as Jared chased after his lips. Letting his eyes rake deliberately up and down the younger man, Jensen smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

“Look at you, all fucked out and spent, lying there like a ‘three-penny upright’ in all your finery. Isn’t that what you said?” Sitting up, he turned away, offering Jared his back, as he swung his legs over the side and climbed out of bed. Snatching up his discarded pants, he stepped into them, only turning to face Jared when he was no longer naked and exposed.

“Worthy!” he bellowed, seeing Jared spread across his sheets like a wanton, hair a wild halo around his head and body glistening with sweat and other fluids.

“Jensen,” he croaked, trying – and failing – to prop himself up on his wobbling elbows.

“I would have given you everything, Jared. Given up everything for you.” He snorted bitterly, raking his hands through his disheveled locks. “But there’s no need now. I can have my cake and eat it, too.”

Before Jared had a chance to respond, Worthy arrived on cat-like feet. “Take him back,” Jensen ordered the eunuch. The chief cocked an eyebrow as he took in Jared’s state of dishabille. “As he is,” the sheikh added. The words had the ring of finality about them.

Worthy reached down and clasped Jared by the arm, helping him to rise on obviously unsteady legs. Jared jerked his arm back and, spotting his pants, he bent over to scoop them up. The sight of his exposed backside, covered in Jensen’s release, had the older man clenching his hands into fists and turning away. He faced his terrace until the shuffle of feet had faded into the distance, before turning back around and dropping down to sit on the bed. He fisted the sheets beneath him, catching the faintest whiff of their time together that still lingered behind.

The cooling smell was already stale and bleak.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it has been in the tags from the beginning, let me warn you again for a NSFW image towards the end of this chapter. It is a male nude, seen from the back.

“So?” Alaina began without preamble. Jensen snorted and shook his head, fiddling with his bisht and brushing away dust that didn’t exist. It was something to do.

“So?” he echoed, dragging out the unavoidable. He bypassed the tea and went straight for another cup of _kahwa_ , needing its bite to wake himself up. He’d slept poorly, which, given his activities, was surprising. The first taste of pleasure beyond his own hand in years and yet he’d tossed about after like a whirling dervish, alternating from breathing deep the faded smell of cloves and sweat on his soiled bedclothes to shoving them aside until the Fajr prayer had started its mournful wail, signaling the start of a new day. By the time he'd dressed, awaiting Alaina’s inevitable summons for a “family” breakfast, the sheets of his bed were merely a tattered pile on the floor. He'd let someone else deal with them, no longer caring for the physical reminder of the night before.

“Well,” Alaina continued, settling more into her pile of cushions, legs curled underneath her, “usually by this time the harem is abuzz with vivid details of your latest exploits. All I've heard so far is that poor Jared was rather…bedraggled when he returned last night.”

Jensen had to bite back on a laugh. Alaina actually appeared disappointed at the dearth of new, titillating escapades. That in and of itself was truly amusing, since the only stories about his prowess were simply that – stories. He had supposed that when Jared returned to the seraglio, he would have exaggerated their evening together, as it was the only way for the lad to gain any stature within the structured harem. That had not, of course, been Jensen’s original plan. He had wanted Jared at the bottom of the heap, perhaps even ostracized by the others. That scheme had been shot to pieces the moment he had held Jared in his arms again. When Jensen had released him, covered as he was in the evidence of their time together, Jensen had realized too late that Jared could claim having lain with him and it would be a hard fact to dispute. No one else had ever been returned to the seraglio by him thusly. Evidently, the lad had kept mum on the subject and Jensen was slightly troubled as to what his motivations might be. It was only idle curiosity and not guilt, he told himself. Nothing more than that.

He reached down and scooped some labneh up with a curled section of pita, trying to chase away the stale taste in his mouth. The tangy yogurt made from camel’s milk was topped with mint and drizzled in olive oil and about the only thing he could stomach this morn. And even that was a challenge. There was no way he wanted to touch the ful, which looked like brown mush and smelled particularly unappealing today. He didn’t delve too deeply as to why he had lost his appetite.

Tearing off another morsel of flatbread, Jensen boasted, “Sorry to disappoint you, but I am quite certain his time with me was memorable, perhaps even beyond the pale.” And he dunked the piece into the bowl of creamy white, pasting a smirk on his face as he did so.

Alaina drank her tea delicately. She looked over the rim of the glass and had a smirk of her own. “Your manhood was never in doubt,” and she placed the glass back onto the low table, “as your impressive skills have been sung too often not to be true, even if I have yet had the pleasure to sample them. But anything would have most likely been memorable for the dear boy, considering he was untouched up until last night. Deflowering someone is usually an historic occasion.” She regarded him with a calculated look.

Jensen stopped chewing, nearly swallowing whole the lump of bread and yogurt in his mouth with no little difficulty. “You lie,” he practically whispered, once he could speak again.

“My sources are impeccable in this matter.” Alaina’s rouged lips formed a petite circle of surprise then. “You didn’t know?” Smoothing back her wavy, red hair, she tapped a finger against her lips. “For someone who had never lain with another before, he must have been well-versed in the act to have fooled you. Or did you simply take him with no regard?” She bit down on her finger and smiled around it hungrily.

“Stop it,” he rasped harshly. “I will not have you speak of this to me.”

The First Kadin was undeterred. She raised her head proudly as she continued, “Not only do I help the _haznedar_ keep track of who you lie with, I have heard _every_ detail about your exploits from their mouths and not once before have you ever cared.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why should it matter now?”

Jensen was unable to meet her stare as he attempted to collect himself. The golden-green oil that pooled at the center of the labneh suddenly made his stomach turn and he could taste it and the coffee at the back of his throat, slick and burning.

_Jared was a virgin._

It made no sense. The boy had been practically wanton under his touch last night. There hadn’t been a shred of reticence in the young Englishman. He had writhed and moaned at everything Jensen had visited on his body and voiced no dissent, offered no tears or pleas.

 _And how could he have? You threatened to silence him_ , his mind traitorously reminded him.

Shaking his head imperceptibly, he told himself he would have known if Jared had been unwilling. He _would_ have. The boy had responded like Jensen always knew he would, like his body was made for Jensen and him alone. He’d nearly lost himself in Jared’s form last night and he’d cursed himself for the almost show of weakness. The golden rings had been evidence enough of the boy’s maneuverings, a clear sign he had wanted to appear alluring. Jared was desperate to go home. And he had gone so far as to open himself up for Jensen. Thinking back on it, he still found himself equal parts aroused and angered at the thought that someone had taught Jared how to do that, how to touch himself so intimately and it hadn’t been him. Virgin Jared might be, but he was no blushing novice. Jensen had come across more than one unmarried soul who had carnal knowledge and still preserved that last bastion for their wedding bed. That did not make them innocent. Jared was no exception.

He became aware of the fact that Alaina was waiting for a reply. He sipped his coffee, composed himself and said, “I have to admit to some disappointment. He certainly didn’t seem like any virgin I’ve come across.” He forced a smile at his unintended double entendre and assumed Alaina’s equally pleased expression was because of it.

Collecting a plate, Alaina began to select a few, choice morsels from the various bowls available on the brass table. “Well, what’s done is done. Now that that matter is taken care of and he is purged from your mind, you can move on as is your wont. There are many more in the queue, eager for their time with you.” Judging by the amount of food she had taken, the woman’s appetite must have been insatiable. She began to eat with relish, her mood clearly improved.

“I didn’t say that I was done with him,” he replied, surprising them both.

Alaina looked up. “You’ve had your time with him, Jensen, and there are protocols to follow.” He watched as she took a deep breath before continuing. “Your duties require you to follow the order, which you've disrupted of late quite enough.” Allowing a gentle curve to shape her lips, she laced her hands together and propped up her chin with them. “As Kadin, I am more than certain I could meet any needs you might have again and again, if you’ve been left dissatisfied, which one would assume by the way you race through the harem.” Her voice had dipped low and taken on a sultry air. “You can call me to your chambers as often as you like. And I can promise you, you won’t be sorry.”

Jensen’s jaw clenched. “I will call who I desire when I desire them. I am sheikh here,” he tacked on when he saw Alaina inhale sharply, obviously planning on voicing her dissent. His eyes crackled with anger. He was spoiling for a battle.

“Yes, Sheikh,” the First Kadin acquiesced grudgingly. Although, judging by her stiff demeanor, she was not pleased and he was sure he had not heard the last of it. The woman was determined to worm her way into Jensen’s bed and he would never let that happen, if for no other reason than that she had replaced his mother in his father’s eyes. He might have hated the man for moving beyond his mother, but he despised her more for the gleeful way Alaina had literally usurped her place.

Before their discourse could sink lower, they were interrupted by the timely arrival of Jake. The young man practically burst into the room, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “He’s here, Mother!” He exclaimed, before dropping down to kiss Alaina on the cheek. Her expression melted into something softer in the face of her son’s exuberance.

“He’s made excellent time then,” she told him, patting him on the hand.

Before Jensen had a chance to ask them what they were talking about, Jake turned his bright eyes on Jensen. “Good morning, Brother. Isn't it exciting?”

Much like Alaina, Jensen’s scowl shifted to a gentler expression. “I would fain join in if I knew what the devil you were going on about.”

“Oh,” Jake breathed, “you don’t know? Mother, how could you not tell him?” he scolded Alaina.

“Yes, ‘Mother’,” Jensen quipped, “however could you not tell me?” He delighted in the way she bristled at the moniker even as he seethed at the notion she had arranged something without consulting him.

Never one to be lacking a reply, Alaina turned towards her son and explained sweetly, “I was planning on informing your brother, but he was so caught up in his latest acquisition that I hadn't found an opportunity to tell him yet.” Once again, Alaina managed to strike a glancing blow. Jake’s expression dimmed, his enthusiasm quenched at the stark reminder of Jensen’s recent actions. That taste was back in Jensen’s mouth.

“Then that leaves you with the honor, Jake,” he gritted out. “Whose recent arrival has you in such a state of hysteria?”

Jake leaned over and swatted Jensen on the arm, his good humor restored. “I am not hysterical,” he snapped.

Jensen pursed his lips together and tilted his head to one side. “Could have fooled me, running in here and screeching like the _Bean Sídhe_ the way you did.”

It was Jake’s turn to cock his head. “The _Bean Sídhe_? I don’t know that one.”

Jensen scratched at the back of his neck. “She is a woman who waves her arms about and wails loudly, warning of an upcoming disaster – a banshee.”

“It is a legend from his mother’s people, much like the _Dames Blanches_ of mine,” Alaina explained. Jensen snapped a look in her direction, ready to take umbrage with whatever she might plan to imply about his mother, but was startled to see no hidden agenda in her eyes. “Maybe sometime Jensen could share more of those stories with you.”

Jake’s pup-like manner was unmistakable. “Would you, Jensen?”

Jensen shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of currently discussing his mother any further in their company. “Perhaps on one of our outings,” he finally promised, hoping that was enough. “But you’ve still left me wondering about our mystery guest.”

Directed back on point, Jake happily replied, “Mother made arrangements to have the world-renowned photographer, Mr. Misha Collins, come here and photograph me.”

The name was not unfamiliar to Jensen. Mr. Collins had become somewhat of a darling amongst the well-to-do of Europe, often called upon to take royal family portraits in addition to capturing moments of historical and political significance. Although he hailed from America, the man was a bit of a mystery, with many stories of his family floating about. Some claimed he was the son of noblemen who had fled Russia after the Patriotic War of 1812, others believed him to be the only child of Sarah and Michael Faraday. Faraday, famous for his work with magnetism and electrochemistry, was a devout Sandemanian and the story went that his young son committed an act so unspeakable in their eyes that he was excommunicated and his parents disavowed his very existence, claiming forevermore to be childless. No one seemed to know what it was he supposedly had done, however.

Whatever the truth was, the man had a skill that set him apart in his field. His daguerreotypes were filled with such delicate detail that the images actually appeared to have depth to them, making them more like small looking glasses than flat images. And he was in high demand. Jensen had no idea how Alaina had managed to arrange it and he fumed at the idea of her going behind his back with something of this import.

One step ahead of him, Alaina assured him, “I had word that he was in the area. With the Trucial Sheikhdoms’ meeting with the British set for later this year, he has been travelling along the Arabian Peninsula, in anticipation of covering that event. He arrived in Doheh while you were involved with the Bani Yas. I took it upon myself to offer him an invitation in your name.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Alaina,” Jensen warned. “You presume much.”

But the First Kadin would not be cowed. “I have nothing left to remind me of my husband except the face I see when I look at my boy.” In a rare show of weakness, Alaina slipped her hand over Jake’s arm. “I don’t think it is too much to ask to have a permanent image of my son as a keepsake. The opportunity arose and I took advantage of it. I am not sorry.”

Jake, who had dropped his eyes downward, uncomfortable with the squabbling, murmured quietly, “It would have been nice to have a picture of Father to remember him by.”

And Jensen had nothing to say against that. One glance at the bowed head of his little brother and he was sharply reminded that he wasn’t the only one who had lost a parent in the last year. Jensen and his sire might have had a world of differences between them, but the man was also Jake’s father. And Jake was now bereft of that presence. There was even a small part of Jensen that could admit something like a daguerreotype of the man would have been an object to cherish.

“Fair enough,” he admitted, “this time.” Rubbing his beard with his rough hand, the scrape of hard skin strangely soothing, he grew thoughtful. A picture could certainly immortalize a moment, offer something tangible to hold onto. An idea began to form. “In fact, I believe a few portraits are in order.”

Jake lifted his head, smiling once more since the storm between his family members had apparently passed. “Are you going to have one done?”

For a brief instant, Jensen flashed back to a drawing rolled up and stuffed away in his desk. “No,” he replied quickly, “I’ve had quite enough of portraits. But I would imagine you would like one of your mother, wouldn’t you?” Jake nodded happily and Alaina perked up.

“You wouldn’t object?” Alaina wondered, a slender eyebrow cocked suspiciously.

“No,” he answered honestly. “I would be very happy for Jake to have that.”

“Then it is settled,” Alaina replied. “I will leave you two to catch up and finish breakfast,” she looked pointedly at Jake, “while I go about arranging rooms for our guest.” Rising gracefully, the woman smoothed out her emerald silks and called for Worthy. When the chief arrived, unflappable as ever, she began speaking softly to him as they made their way out of the chamber, heads tilted towards each other.

“Oh, Alaina?” Jensen called after her.

Turning, she regarded him from over her pale shoulder. “Yes?”

“Please inform Mr. Collins that I will be requiring a portrait as well.”

Confusion wrinkling her brow, Alaina asked, “But, a moment ago, you refused. Have you changed your mind so quickly?”

“Not of me, but _for_ me,” he clarified, his eyes daring her to question him further.

The First Kadin studied him closely, but Jensen offered her no other information. “As you wish, Sheikh,” she eventually acknowledged before leaving with Worthy, less pleased than she had been a minute ago.

Their terse exchange was not noticed by Jake, who was heaping mounds of fluffy eggs onto his plate, along with chunks of leftover lamb. “You going to have him make one of your beloved Shaitan?” he asked around a mouthful of ful.

“Your mother is only just out of sight and your manners apparently exited with her,” he frowned, although he was secretly pleased his brother could be at ease with him when alone. Boys needed to be boys from time to time.

Jake peered sheepishly behind him and Jensen was momentarily afraid he’d been too harsh with him when his only intentions had been teasing ones. When Jake turned back to face him, he opened his mouth wide, displaying the mash of ful, lamb and eggs jammed inside.

“You’re a slovenly, little, street urchin,” Jensen chastised him, balling up his linen and throwing it at his brother. Jake cackled and proceeded to shovel more into his mouth.

When he finally managed to swallow the pantry’s worth of food he’d crammed in, Jake repeated his earlier guess. “You are going to have Mr. Collins photograph your favorite horse, aren’t you? And you were too embarrassed to tell Mother.” He stared at Jensen, beaming with pleasure at the thought.

Jensen’s answering smile hardened a touch and he found he couldn’t be completely honest with his little brother. “You’re right,” he confirmed. “I am going to have the man make a portrait of my favorite from the stables. I should like to remember how he looked at this time for the rest of my life.” It was as close to the truth as he was willing to admit to. Aliana would probably expose his lie later, but for the moment he could have a pleasant morning with his brother without Jake thinking the worst of him. To make his little brother understand would require Jensen sharing things he hadn’t breathed of to another living soul since he had returned. He wasn’t about to start rooting through the muck today.

“Now, if you close that gaping maw, I might share a tale or two about the _bean sídhe,_ the Tuath Dé and the _sluagh sídhe,_ ” he offered his younger sibling enticingly.

Scrubbing his face with his linen, Jake wore an earnest expression. “Would you really? You’ve never talked about…” and he paused, struggling to find a way to express himself.

But Jensen knew what he meant and it was true. He had never shared anything about his mother or her people with him. Her memories and the stories she had given him were lumps of gold in a dismal world to Jensen and he had hoarded that treasure as miserly as Scrooge did his coins. He shook his head and let out a bitter snort. _Damn Jared and his blasted Dickens!_

“No, I never have,” he admitted. “But I think I would like to with you.”

Jake’s smile was practically blinding. He scooted himself and his cushions closer, giving Jensen his undivided attention. And they passed the rest of the morning together, lost in his mother’s world.

*****

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Jensen finally had his audience with Mr. Collins. He was seated in his receiving chamber, warm sunlight – sliced by the shadows of the terrace columns – splashed across the floor. Gaze caught on a dark, maroon stain on one of the rugs, it slowly came to Jensen that he had not revisited the room since Jared’s fateful arrival. For the blink of an eye, he could still see the boy – bloody, bound and afraid – as he was forced to kneel at Jensen’s feet. The memory, though fleeting, was not nearly as intoxicating as it had once been; its sweetness decayed into something sour. He idly spun a long, slim, leather box aimlessly around on the brass table beside him with his finger.

At a sharp cough, Jensen raised his head. There was a man wedged between Worthy and Wisdom who Jensen had never seen before. Standing uncomfortably beside the eunuchs, the stranger was dressed in a black suit and waistcoat, with a ridiculously tall hat. Apparently either the styles were changing to the absurd, or the man himself was an anomaly with such a perilously high fashion accessory. The only splash of color in the whole ensemble was his pale, pink shirt and matching cravat. Studying him more closely, Jensen decided he was a handsome enough fellow, with wavy, dark hair and rather arresting eyes of the deepest blue. He was clean-shaven with a firm jawline.

“Your highness,” he offered in a lilting tone, tipping his head to a small degree.

Jensen rose from his seat, his black robes billowing slightly from the motion, and surprised the man by thrusting out his hand. “Mr. Collins, I presume.”

Shifting his eyes between the guards, he eventually accepted and returned Jensen’s handshake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Sheikh Ankour.”

“You two may leave,” Jensen informed the men in English, “and collect the concubine.” Worthy nodded at the instructions and the two departed. Mr. Collins seemed to breathe easier at that.

“They make you uncomfortable?” Jensen asked him, walking slowly around the man, while Collins removed his hat and wiped at his brow with a rose-hued pocket square. Without the hat, Jensen saw that the American stood a little shorter than him, as did most men.

“Your wife has had them fixed to my side since my arrival. Hard not to be a little intimidated. But that was the idea all along, wasn’t it?” the photographer replied and Jensen swore he heard something sly in the declaration.

“She is not my wife,” Jensen snapped, coming to stand directly in front of Collins in a swirl of ebony. “She _is_ the First Kadin, however.”

“I’m so sorry,” the other man offered immediately, sounding genuinely regretful. “I’m still rather new to all of the protocol,” and he waved his hands at the room and terrace beyond. “I hope to travel on to Constantinople later this year with an associate, Jean-Léon Gérôme, and visit Topkapi Palace while there and perhaps catch a glimpse of the Sultan’s harem.”

“This place is modelled after that palace,” Jensen informed him, “but you would be no more welcome in the Ottoman Sultan’s harem than you would be in mine.” He let the threat hang heavy in the air, not sure exactly what this foreigner, with his bland voice, knew or presumed to know about life within his country. The inherent air of privilege, as always, rankled him.

Rotating his hat round and round in his hands by the brim, Collins cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I could see it if…you know…”

“No, Mr. Collins, I don’t know,” Jensen dragged out.

Clearing his throat a second time, the photographer continued in a nearly conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve heard the tales. Pirates stealing folk along the Barbary Coast, caravans raided. And all to supply the slave trade with handsome people for the harems. And I know I’m not an eyesore to look at…”

Jensen let out a peal of laughter that reverberated throughout the vast chamber. “Is that why the eunuchs made you so clearly uneasy? Did you think I planned to keep you here against your will?” He made the notion sound preposterous.

The American made a noncommittal shrug, his face a close match in color to his shirt.

“No, Mr. Collins, I would never –” Jensen stopped speaking abruptly enough that the other man overcame his growing embarrassment to shift his head sideways and narrow his sharp eyes curiously.

Jensen could no longer proclaim he would never take someone forcibly. While he might not have directly done that to Jared, he certainly had no plans to release him. “I would not do that to you, sir,” he finally finished.

Appearing to accept Jensen’s word, the photographer visibly relaxed his tense posture. “I meant no insult,” he offered.

Jensen had heard much worse things about his people pass from strangers’ lips, but this one was too close to the mark to take honest offense at. “No harm done. But something for you and your friend to keep in mind for your trip – there are only three ways for a man to enter a harem.”

“And they are?” Collins prodded, keen to garner some insight into a world he was clearly uncertain of how to navigate through.

“As you suspected, if a man is _selected_ to join the ranks of the concubines, he may enter. The second is if the man is the sultan or sheikh of the harem. And the third…”

“And the third?” the American wheedled.

“And the third is as a guard for the harem,” Jensen finished.

“I don’t see myself joining and I can’t inherit a harem, but perhaps I could manage some guard duty for a while,” he joked.

Jensen nodded along. “You could become a guard. Of course, all guards within the harem must be made into eunuchs.” Jensen noted with some delight that all the color was draining away from Collins’ face. “Still interested in a position?”

“I think I shall pass,” he answered queasily. “I am rather attached to my trinkets, thank you kindly.”

Jensen let a genuine smile slip out. “I suspected as much. On to business, shall we?” he prodded, clapping his hands together decisively.

“Of course, Sheikh.” The man’s demeanor changed once they moved on to the subject of his visit. “I’ve set up an area, with permission, in the side chamber with most of my equipment. I have already finished the images of your brother and yo- …er, the First Kadin,” he corrected himself. “They were both quite pleased with the results, if I do say so myself. But neither one was able to tell me what you would like done. My equipment is extremely portable, so once I prepare the plate, we can move to wherever the subject is that you would like to commemorate.

“And, not to sound impertinent,” he added, “but I would like to get started immediately.”

It was Jensen’s turn to be puzzled, for there was still more than an hour of good daylight.

Turning back towards the terrace, Collins raised a hand to partially shield his eyes from the encroaching sunset. “We’re coming up on what I like to refer to as the ‘golden hour’. It’s not an actual hour, per se, but a time when the light is nearly perfect. It is warmer and has gentler highlights, while the shadows have grown muted and less defined.”

Jensen regarded the scene with new appreciation, recognizing the photographer’s obvious skill. “Can you take the photo in this room?” he asked.

Collins scanned the chamber critically before agreeing. “I don’t foresee any difficulties here. Your brother seemed to think I was to photograph your prize stallion. Won’t that get a bit messy, though?”

Jensen huffed out another laugh, no more than a puff of air forced out of his body. “No, Mr. Collins. You will be taking a portrait of one of my concubines.”

“Must be someone special,” the other man muttered, “to go to all the trouble.”

Jensen had nothing to say to that, but his dark look must have spoken volumes. “I will only need a few minutes to prepare the plate and then we can proceed,” he said more distinctly. “Your brother was rather fascinated with the process. Would you care to observe as well?”

Jensen was hardly surprised that Jake had been enthralled. “I should enjoy that very much.” Motioning with a sweep of his arm, Jensen added, “Lead on.”

The two men stepped into the smaller side-chamber. All the drapes had been drawn, leaving the room in near darkness. A few lamps were lit and Jensen noticed that Collins had a large trunk off to one side and an array of equipment spread out on a long table that must have been brought in for him to use. Placed in no particular order that Jensen was able to discern, he saw a small box flipped open with a variety of vials and jars, another which contained a series of what looked like glass plates in addition to stands, polishing brushes and the camera itself.

Collins shucked his coat, letting it fall to the floor with little regard, and tossed his hat aside. He rolled up his sleeves and loosened his cravat. “Shall I explain the technique step-by-step?” he asked Jensen.

“If you wouldn’t be too disturbed,” Jensen told him. “I am rather curious.”

In the dim light, Jensen spotted the crooked grin Collins graced him with. “Just like your little brother, eh?" And for some reason, Jensen was pleased that the other man saw a similarity between him and Jake.

“I suppose that’s true enough,” he answered easily.

“All right, the first step is to prepare the plate,” Collins began, before selecting one from second box Jensen had noticed. The plate was no larger than five or six inches by four. “The plate itself is made of copper,” the other man explained, “and faced with silver.” He handled it by its edges delicately before setting it, silver side up, on a polished block of wood with a large screw set in the side. “The block is adjustable and makes the plate easier to handle. This part is a trifle boring, I will admit, but most necessary.”

The American placed a small dish near the block and selected two glass bottles from his collection of chemicals. He tapped out a small amount of white powder into the dish and then wet a cloth with liquid from the other, before dipping the moistened fabric into the powder. With nearly mechanical strokes, Collins rubbed it across the plate, back and forth, until he had covered the entire surface at least once.

“The plate needs to be polished, so I make an initial pass with alcohol and rotten stone. Then,” he continued, setting the plate down while he selected a different jar filled with red powder and exchanged his alcohol swab for a padded stick nearly as long as his forearm, “I use rouge to buff it even more.” With motions an automaton would envy, the man buffed the plate in one direction and one direction only. He then traded out the padded stick for a clean one and repeated the process.

“Now it is ready to be made light-sensitive,” he finally pronounced. “I will, however, need to dim all but one light.”

Jensen was uncertain if he was asking for permission or announcing his intentions. “Go ahead,” he told the photographer.

Snuffing out the lights, Collins continued to speak even though Jensen could barely make out what instruments he was using. “I’m placing the plate, silver side down, in what is known as a ‘sensitizing box’,” and he slid something shut. “Inside the box is iodine, which will fume and react with the silver.” After about a minute, Collins went on, “Now I will repeat the process, but with bromide instead. When I’m finished here, the plate will be coated with bromoiodide of silver and will be light-sensitive.”

Jensen was impressed with the easy way the man moved in the near dark, spouting off chemistry like an Oxford professor. He heard some more sliding of drawers and then shuffling. The blackness began to recede and Jensen realized Collins was relighting the other lamps.

Pointing to a black rectangle on the table, he explained, “The plate is in a plate holder and ready for use in the camera obscura.” Sliding it into the camera, he fiddled with the holder and then pulled it free. “Shall we set up in the first room?”

Carefully carrying the camera, Collins followed Jensen back into his receiving chamber just as Wisdom and Worthy escorted Jared in from the other door. Jensen took a moment to drink in the sight of the younger man.

Dressed in simple silks of dark colors, an almost demure outfit, Jared’s head hung forward and his hair was once again a curtain shielding his eyes from Jensen’s. His shoulders were rounded down and Jensen found himself wondering what the lad was thinking, not that it truly mattered. But it nonetheless angered him that Jared had a way to hide from him even while standing in his presence.

“Is that him?” came Collins’ voice from behind.

At the sound, Jared’s head shot up. From where Jensen was standing, he noticed that the boy’s eyes were slightly swollen and tinged in red, almost as if he’d been crying. And his eyes appeared all the more blue because of it. Looking between Jensen and the photographer, his throat worked convulsively. Jensen deliberated if Jared thought the other man was somehow here to rescue him. “Yes,” he answered Collins without turning around. “Where do you want him?” He watched as Jared deflated at the exchange of words, since there was nothing hopeful about them.

“I think against the far wall. Since it is bare, I believe it will make for a nice background. It will take me a few minutes to position the camera, though,” he added.

“Take your time, Mr. Collins.” Sliding his eyes up and down Jared’s body, he smiled. “It will take me a few minutes to ready him as well.”

The photographer grunted something and began arranging a stand for his camera.

Jensen turned his back on the confused boy and grabbed the slim case off his end table. Motioning to the eunuchs, they prodded Jared along until he was beside Jensen. “I can handle him from here,” he told them dismissively, never tearing his eyes off of Jared. Closer now, Jensen made out dark shadows beneath the red-rimmed lids. There was no affectation in play. The young Englishman appeared lost and a little sad. Somewhere, in the back of Jensen’s mind, he heard Alaina declaring him to be a virgin. He supposed that wasn’t the case any longer, if that had actually ever been the truth. And there was that sour taste in his mouth once more. Jensen moistened his lips and inhaled deeply.

“Ready whenever you are, Sheikh,” Collins announced, interrupting the moment.

“Give me a minute more,” he tossed over his shoulder before holding up the case in front of Jared. “I’ve decided to commemorate your time here with a photograph, Jared, and I should like very much to see you wear this.” He opened the case slowly.

Nestled on a bed of black velvet was what at first glance appeared to be an elaborate, diamond necklace. “Go on,” Jensen urged, when it grew obvious that Jared was only going to stare at it obstinately. “Now,” he ordered sharply.

With hands that shook minutely, Jared picked up the necklace and held it woven between his fingers. The main part was a collection of four single-strands of diamonds bound side by side and a series of strands that systematically grew longer towards the center that hung vertically off the main portion. In the golden glare of the late day, they sparkled as brightly as stars in the heavens. Hesitantly, Jared moved to slip it over his head, when Jensen reached out and caught his hand. Jared froze at his touch, his eyes unreadable.

“It’s not for your neck, but your waist. It is a belt, Jared.” It bothered him slightly that the lad hadn’t said a word since his arrival.

When Jared fiddled with the clasp, Jensen placed his hand over the lad’s. “I would have you wear it and nothing else.”

“What?” Jared gasped in a small voice.

Jensen plucked the belt from Jared’s hands. “Strip and then put it on.”

His eyes darted from Jensen to the photographer and back again. “Don’t be shy. I am certain Mr. Collins has seen his fair share of nude bodies, haven’t you?”

“I have had many clients who preferred their images done _au naturel_ , as it were. Some want to remember what they look like before the ravages of time set in. Others manage to still find the beauty in what they have despite their age,” he replied somewhat distractedly. Sneaking a glance over his shoulder, Jensen saw he was still adjusting the camera angle and hadn’t even looked up. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“See, Jared? Nothing he hasn’t seen before,” Jensen cajoled cruelly.

The lad’s lips quivered and his eyes shimmered with the hint of tears. “Please, Jensen. Not in front of anyone else,” he whispered.

The way he said “anyone else” struck Jensen as odd, as if he had been paraded around naked before some multitude. Torn between a growing sense of guilt and ire at his own weakness before Jared’s tears, Jensen grumbled, “Turn around if you must, but make it quick. And do not think him your hero. Say one word of who you are and I will simply add another addition to my harem. His fate is in your hands.” Jensen had sincerely meant the assurances he had only offered to the photographer a few minutes ago, but Jared didn't know that.

The young Englishman swallowed hard and offered his back to the room. Slower than Jensen would have liked, Jared unbuttoned and slid his shirt off, the henna tattoos still quite visible, before fussing with the ties to his pants. When he seemed to take too long, Jensen warned, “Now, or I'll take them off myself.” And then they were nothing more than a pool at the Englishman’s feet.

Sliding up behind Jared, Jensen leaned up and whispered against his ear, “Good boy.” He slowly wound his arms around Jared’s waist, snaking the diamonds along with him, until his hands met above Jared’s manhood. With a deft click, the belt was in place. Jensen took the briefest chance and skated his fingers along the rim of the boy’s navel, dipping the tip of one finger inside before he stepped back. The smaller strands rested against the curve of Jared’s backside enticingly, calling attention to its plump shape as they winked in the sunlight. He traced the path of one strand with a calloused finger as it skirted along the length of the crease of the boy’s cheeks.

“Stunning,” Collins said, making Jared twitch suddenly.

Out of some misplaced instinct, Jensen placed his hand comfortingly against Jared’s jutting hipbone. “Shh,” he soothed, before he caught himself and pulled away as though Jared had burned him.

“Those designs are really quite something,” the photographer mentioned. “What do they mean?”

Turning around to face the other man, Jensen dismissed them. “They don’t really translate well into English.” Lies, but the American would know no difference.

Collins shrugged. “He can turn around anytime now. I’m ready when you are.”

Just as Jensen was going to order Jared to turn, he watched as Jared’s head bowed in shame. Standing there, naked and exposed to a stranger, his arms twitched and he made to cover his arse with them. Jensen caught them up and pushed them away. “Don’t cover yourself,” he rasped. Jared clutched his right forearm with his left hand so tightly that Jensen suspected he would bruise himself. But he left his rear exposed. “Take it this way,” Jensen ground out, dragging a hand harshly across his mouth.

“Can you tell him to hold still for at least the count of twenty?” the American asked Jensen.

Before Jensen could reply, Jared’s soft voice announced, “I will.”

Collins blinked and jerked his head back in surprise before he let a professional mask slip into place. “As soon as I take the lens cover off, the plate will begin reacting to the light. I will let you know when you can move again,” he explained to Jared.

He made one final adjustment to the angle of the camera and then pulled the lens cover off. All three men held completely still for nearly half a minute. “And we’re done,” he proclaimed, snapping the cover back into place.

While Collins busied himself with his camera, Jared continued to stand with the same, slumped pose. When he made no move to redress, Jensen strode over and snatched his shirt from the floor. “You can cover yourself,” he said quietly, handing over the garment. Jared silently accepted the clothing. As he moved to unclasp the belt, Jensen placed a hand over his fumbling ones. “Keep it. It was meant for you.” Jared raised his head and stared back at Jensen, but said nothing. Jensen finally released his hands and stepped away, turning aside as Jared put his clothes back on.

“Would he like to join us as I finish the work?” Collins asked.

“No,” Jensen answered. “Worthy!”

The chief returned to the room, casting a withering glare at the photographer, before standing beside Jensen. “Take him back,” he ordered the guard, jerking his chin in Jared’s direction. Worthy tilted his head slightly and stepped alongside Jared. The lad made no move to resist and followed him docilely out of the chamber, never once looking back. Jensen frowned.

“Would you still like to see how it’s finished?” the American said in a subdued voice.

“Please,” Jensen eventually responded, but his heart wasn’t in it.

The photographer once again darkened the room, but not before lighting an alcohol lamp under a strange chamber. He also extracted another two vials from his case. Once the room was almost pitch black, he removed the plate from the camera.

“What I am about to do,” Collins explained, “is heat up this liquid mercury to roughly one hundred and seventy-five degrees in this flared, iron chamber while the plate sits on top, exposed side down. The resulting mercury fumes fix the plate.” Jensen made some sound of interest, still mulling over Jared’s deportment.

“With this done, there is only one more step to make the plate viewable in regular light.” He placed the plate in a shallow, metal pan and proceeded to pour enough liquid over it to completely submerge it. “Hyposulfide of silver removes whatever bromoiodide of silver from the surface of the plate that didn’t react with the light.”

Collins pulled back the drapes and let the last of the sunset flood the room in a fiery wash. He pulled the plate from the pan and placed it on top of another device. Beneath the plate, a metal lamp rested above another, open flame. “The gilding stand has a solution of chloride of gold, which I use to harden the plate. And we’re done.”

The photographer removed the plate from the stand and polished it one last time, before framing it beneath a brass mat and glass and then inserting it into a shallow-hinged case lined with crushed, red velvet. With no little ceremony, he handed the finished portrait over to Jensen.

Jensen cradled the image in his hands. The work was beautiful, without a doubt and had captured Jared’s likeness perfectly. But there was no denying the defeated slope of shoulder and neck. The young Englishman was the very picture of shame. When he looked up, Jensen saw that Collins was staring back at him with a penetrating gaze, as though the photographer could read some of his discomfiture.

“Did you get what you wanted?” the man asked somberly.

Jensen stared back at the portrait, but his thoughts were a thousand miles away.

 

 _“You would make me a whore, just like your mother?” Jared panted, with what must have been outrage flushing his cheeks. “An Irish, three-penny upright who despised her life…” he paused, staring off for a moment before taking a steadying breath and continuing, “who despised_ you _so much that taking her own life was preferable.”_

_Elizabeth gasped at her son’s outburst, but there was no mistaking the pleased grin on George’s face._

_“Jared,” James snapped, attempting to rise, but the senior Padalecki slammed a hand over his oldest son’s arm, locking him in place._

_“I suppose I should be outraged, but the whole thing is too bloody farcical to even give it a second thought,” Jared finished before rising and leaving the dining table. The shocked silence that remained in his wake was deafening._

 

Jensen let out a shaky exhalation and snapped the case shut. With a hard gleam in his eye, he answered, “Not even close. But this,” he held up the daguerreotype, “is a good start.”


	20. Chapter 20

“He did what?” Jake prodded. Jensen groaned and rolled away, unwilling to hear how Tahmoh would paint the picture.

Trying to smother out the sounds of the other sheikh’s calm voice and Jake’s eager giggles, Jensen pulled another cushion from the floor to place over his head. He had stretched out on the simple divan, almost overly full from the huge lunch his kitchens had prepared. He normally didn’t indulge in such grand affairs, but it was a special occasion, what with both Tahmoh and Jason’s combined visit. And he did owe them, as Alaina had so dutifully pointed out. So nothing had been spared.

There had been heaping platters of _maraq_ , although the tomato and lamb stew had been decimated early on by the men, a variety of salads (slower to disappear), tea and coffee, not to mention _shineena_ (although Jensen was not a devotee of the yogurt beverage, but Jake was) and Naqe'e Al Zabib, because Jason favored the raisin based Yemeni drink. While the majority of the meal had been cleared away, fresh bowls of mezze had taken their place, as well as more than a few types of alcohol to accompany the snacks and two very ornate huqqas that stood hip high were placed within easy reach of the men.

The afternoon sun flitted through the small, keyhole cutouts of the floor to ceiling dividers that separated the room from Jensen’s main receiving chamber. With couches and divans along each wall, stacks of embroidered cushions piled high, discreet end tables with brass accents and rugs of the deepest scarlet, the room was warm and comfortable – much more appropriate for a gathering of friends than the other formal chamber. As someone peeled the pillow from Jensen’s head, he twisted back to face the room. Tahmoh barely acknowledged him as he continued to regale Jake with outlandish and exaggerated details of their raid on Khawr al Udayd. He realized it was Jason who had pulled away his cover, smiling up at him from where he sat comfortably on the floor. 

Jason and Tahmoh – the closet people in his life that he could call friends.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Jensen studied the men while their attentions were focused on Jake again. Tahmoh was slightly older than Jensen and, like Jensen, was tall and fair skinned. For the most part, the short-haired man resembled his mother. He had her green eyes and brown locks. But, like Jensen, he had inherited his height from his father. Dressed in exquisite silks of brown and gold, he reminded Jensen uncomfortably of Alaina. Although an excellent tactician and reliable ally, there was an undercurrent of ruthless to the man, which belied his gentle, even voice. He sat on another couch, Jake sitting cross-legged at his feet, and had to mention the one flaw of their entire raid.

“So there we were,” he continued, “laying down cover for your brother, while he snuck over to the boats with the oil.”

Jake nodded, absently grabbing a hunk of pita before dipping it into the labneh and jamming it into his mouth.

“He douses nearly a dozen or so of the Bani Yas’ boats and all he has to do is set them afire.” Tahmoh paused and cast a wicked grin in Jensen’s direction. “And he does. But do you know what else he did?”

Jensen sighed. There was no chance of stopping the man. He reached down, grabbed the glass filled with beer and took a swig. Although alcohol was not something he was supposed to partake of, it was as Alaina had said. He and many others in positions of authority picked and chose what hadith they followed, knowing no one would dare say anything against them. The strong yeast and malt flavor did little to quell his growing embarrassment.

“What did he do?” Jake asked breathlessly.

Jason, sitting much like Jake, dropped his head back against the divan and grinned up at Jensen. Out of the three of them, the younger Jason resembled the common man the most, aside from his towering height. Standing several inches taller than Jensen, the only man besides Jared’s family to do so, Jason had a deeply tanned skin, with coal black hair that he wore nearly to his shoulders. He took after both his parents. His father, Sheikh Wasam, was unusually tall, but so was his mother. He hailed from Tahiti and had been bound for England, with a group of London missionaries, when their ship was set upon by pirates. The boy had been brought to Morocco, much like Jensen’s mother, and Sheikh Wasam had been enchanted by his gentle mannerisms and burnt honey complexion. Unlike Tahmoh, Jason favored more austere and practical clothing, almost exclusively dressing in homespun black. Merriment gleamed in his bourbon colored eyes.

Tahmoh paused for dramatic effect. “He set his igal on fire, which, in turn, then had his kufiya ablaze. It’s a good thing he keeps his hair so short or that probably would have been next.”

Jake snorted in laughter, as did Jason.

Jensen set his beer down and slowly made himself sit up. “If you’re going to tell him that, Tahmoh, the least you can do is restore my honor and tell him about the events that unfolded afterwards.”

Jake, shifting his gaze from one man to the other, demanded, “What happened next?”

Tahmoh leaned forward and took a puff from one of the huqqas. The smoke he slowly exhaled circled about his head like a tarnished, golden wreath in the speckled sunlight. “I suppose that’s fair enough,” he admitted. Turning to face Jake, who wrinkled his nose at the smell of the tobacco and opium mix, he continued. “Jason and I were still holding off some of the pirates near the tower and your brother was thrashing around in the sand when a Bani Yas emerged from one of the boats that had caught fire. He must have been sleeping in it and we’d missed him. He sees Jensen flopping about like a fish out of water, jumps down near him and draws his scimitar.”

Jensen noticed his little brother give him an uneasy smile, eyes travelling his body quickly as though he was assuring himself that Jensen was still in one piece. Jensen immediately regretted urging Tahmoh on, not wanting to distress his younger sibling unnecessarily.

“As the man held the sword in both hands, point down, he raised his arms high in the air,” the other sheikh went on, oblivious to his main audience’s disquiet, “Jensen grabbed a handful of sand and threw it into the pirate’s face.”

Jake exhaled shakily.

“Blinded as he was, he stabbed downward, but didn’t see Jensen roll towards him. So he impaled the ground instead of your brother’s gut.” And he made a stabbing motion with both his hands at the couch “Then, Jensen rolled back onto the sword, knocking it loose and kept right on rolling over it, flattening it to the sand, until he had cleared the hilt.” Tahmoh paused and took a sip of his raki.

Jake licked his lips and nervously stuffed another piece of pita into his mouth. He was so engrossed in the tale, however, he didn’t notice he’d dipped the bread in _muhammara_ instead of the tangy labneh and was almost immediately scrambling for fruit juice to quench the burning that ensued from the hot pepper dip. He choked and sputtered, eyes watering.

“Fit punishment for laughing at me earlier,” Jensen teased.

Still coughing, Jake rasped, “What happened? What did Jensen do?”

Tahmoh cut a smirk in Jensen’s direction. “He grabbed up the sword from where he was lying, angled it perfectly and let the stumbling, blinded fool impale himself on it as he lunged down to grab it.” And he clutched at his chest and fell across the couch theatrically, twitching sporadically.

Wiping his eyes, Jake leaned towards Jensen’s divan. “You were lucky,” he whispered.

Jensen bent down and ruffled his little brother’s sandy hair. All of them had forgone their headdresses, since it was an intimate gathering of friends more than an official visit. The two sheikhs had arrived in full regalia, but that had been simply to take advantage of Mr. Collins’ presence. Once formal portraits had been made and Mr. Collins – with his soulful, judgmental stare – had departed, the men had relaxed amongst one another, as was usual.

“I knew what I was doing, Jake. Trust me,” he reassured his sibling. “If these two oafs had done a better job, I wouldn't have had to exert myself so and less blood would have been shed.” As he had counted on, his insult had Tahmoh and Jason making such a hubbub that the earlier, jovial mood was restored. However, Jake remained thoughtful.

Arching an eyebrow, Jensen asked, “What is it? I can almost see the wheels and cogs churning between your ears, little brother.”

“Well,” Jake began, “with the tower here,” and he moved a bowl of tabbouleh from the platter onto the floor, “and the harbor over here.” He paused to grab another dish of hummus and set it some distance away from the parsley and mint salad. Not stopping there, he also purloined some cups and placed them around his makeshift tower as well as the brass coffee pot, with the spout pointed towards his hummus harbor. The other men had been mildly amused but grew curious as Jake deliberately positioned dinner items across the dark carpet with growing complexity.

Wiping his hands on this thobe, Jake knelt by the salad. “Now, if you had been here,” he pointed to the glasses of raki, indicating Tahmoh and Jason, “and Jensen had been the coffee pot, you could have kept the Bani Yas occupied using this portion of the tower as cover while Jensen and a few others could have bombarded the ships with flaming arrows. You would never have had to get any closer,” he concluded, “and if you’d needed help, the others would have been nearby.”

Jensen tilted his head from one side to the other, considering what Jake had proposed. The other two men were doing the same.

Eventually, Tahmoh replied, “In theory, this looks like a good idea, but in the heat of the moment, it may not have been realistic to attempt. Too many ways for it to have gone wrong, I think.”

Jensen watched as Jake deflated at Tahmoh’s pronouncement. “I don’t know, Tahm,” Jensen disagreed, using a familiar version of the man’s name. “Using archers might have let us take out more of their ships before their reinforcements arrived and we were forced to withdraw.”

Jason bobbed his head in agreement. “All we ever wanted was to stymie their sea ventures, which was why we tried to avoid direct confrontation. This might have been the better way to go about that.”

“Well, is it okay if I have a drink of your reinforcements, Jake?” Tahmoh quipped before snaring a partially full glass of raki. The other men laughed and Jake sat up a touch straighter, evidently pleased at being considered seriously.

“Not bad, little brother. You’re shaping up to be a formidable thinker,” Jensen told him.

Jason puffed away at the huqqa and the overripe scent of the smoke began to become noticeable. Jensen never partook, not appreciating the way it clouded his thinking, but he didn't begrudge his friends enjoying it since it was a celebration of sorts. Jake’s face contorted even more, and he not so subtly waved his hand to clear the air around him.

“Go ahead and pull back the curtain,” Jensen told him. “There’s a slight breeze today and that should make the air more pleasant for you.”

Jake sprung to his feet and drew back the fabric that covered the only window in the room that faced outward. The breeze was stronger and pushed much of the narcotic smoke away and into the larger, receiving chamber. He tied the sash loosely and plopped back down onto the floor to tidy up his battlefield.

“As enlightening and pleasant as this has all been,” Tahmoh began, “I don’t know about Jas, but I am more than curious about your new acquisition, Jensen. He must be something for you to finally add someone to your father’s collection.” There was the hint of derision in the man’s tone, which didn’t surprise Jensen. He had been the butt of more than one joke, for the way he hadn’t embraced every aspect of his heritage. One time, Tahmoh had even gone so far as to tease that Jensen’s virginity had miraculously been restored, what with the way he seemed to fearfully avoid his conjugal duties. Word travelled quickly between the local sheikhdoms and gossip had the wings of hawks. It had been that very quip, in fact, that had set Jensen’s plans in motion to call upon but not partake of his concubines, as was expected. It made sense the men would be excited to see just who would have caught Jensen’s eye, as it were.

Jason took another breath from the huqqa before nodding slowly in agreement with Tahmoh. Jake had finished replacing the various foodstuffs back on their respective platters before rising to his feet. “I have no desire to see someone paraded about like a thing,” he snipped, before stiffly adding, “so if you ‘gentlemen’ will excuse me.” And he left with such speed that his thobe snapped behind him, much like the curtain that had begun flapping in the growing breeze.

Tahmoh chuckled and Jason joined in. “Boys don’t understand, but men appreciate,” Tahmoh intoned seriously, as though he was imparting some great piece of wisdom to them.

And Jensen believed he would never be able to make Jake understand.

 

**_Early Summer, Somerset, England 1852_ **

_Despite the night before, Jensen was still so very nervous. He was more than certain about Jared’s feelings, even though they hadn’t exchanged the actual words in English between each other. He knew, in his heart, that Jared was meant to be his. But Jared had been a ghost all day and he’d barely caught a single glimpse of the lad as he flitted about. He tried to convince himself it meant nothing, but the doubts were playing merry hell with his nerves. So he had immersed himself in his plans to wed Jared._

_Society dictated that Jensen ask the senior Padalecki for permission to marry his youngest son and he knew there was no way the other man would ever grant it. That would prove troublesome, but not impossible to overcome. It was true that Jared had not yet reached his majority and Lord Hardwicke’s Marriage Act was specifically designed to prevent clandestine and underage marriages, but there were still ways to circumvent the law. Banns had to be called and parental permission had to be given, but they could go to a parish where no one knew of the Padaleckis, publish the banns and be married legally as long as no one objected._

_Jensen had no intention of returning to Qatar, since then he would eventually have to succeed his father and assume ownership of the harem. That was no life for him or Jared, who would be his one and only spouse. He would renounce his claim to his father’s sheikhdom so as to be free of it. He was certain that act would cost him everything – his fortune, his title and, most importantly, his tenuous relationship with his father and his little brother. However, Jensen was more than prepared because when he looked at Jared, he saw his partner, his soulmate and his future. No one had ever understood Jensen the way the other boy did and Jensen had never let anyone into his heart, save for his mother, to the degree he did Jared. He wasn’t wrong in his choice. He wasn’t._

_It might not be quite the life he was used to living, but Jensen, even cut off from his father’s finances, had already begun to make provisions. A house was under construction on a rather large tract of land near the_ _Montacute Estate, thanks to Sir William Phelips himself. The Gambling Squire, as he was rapidly coming to be known as, had lost dreadfully to him last season’s end during that fateful round of Pharo. Unable to make immediate payment in currency, the mortified man had quickly offered Jensen the equivalent value in land and when Jensen left the gaming table, the deed carefully pocketed in his suit coat, he knew he’d secured the beginnings of a future for him and the boy who had stolen his heart. A future filled with nothing but blue skies and inviting green. He’d never have to face the harsh gold of his father’s land again and neither would Jared. He had seen to that._

_So as he dressed carefully in a suit of charcoal gray with a somber, green cravat, he rehearsed his speech over and over in his head until he was certain the words were burned into his brain. The family dinner would be the perfect place to propose, because Jensen wanted to profess his love before all them, to prove he wasn’t afraid or ashamed and it would give Jared the chance to finally stand up to his father. He counted on George’s objections, but a man so concerned with propriety would certainly rein in his temper before his family and staff, perhaps even initially pretend to consider the offer only to rescind it privately in a day or two. Jensen planned to have Jared long gone by then._

_He rummaged around in his bag and pulled out a small, black pouch. Unlacing it, he emptied its contents into his open palm. The gold band gleamed dully, but the gemstones encrusted along its circumference picked up the lamplight and glinted warmly. Small, purposefully uneven chips of topaz, sapphires and emeralds had been chosen to match the colors Jensen found when staring into Jared’s eyes. The craftsmanship was exemplary and well worth the small fortune he’d paid to have it completed in such a rush. Jensen curled his fingers around it tightly, before depositing it in his waistcoat pocket. He was ready._

_Dinner was the usual, wooden affair marked with George’s stony looks and James’ attempts at levity. Jared was quiet, but his complexion was wan in the flickering lights of the candelabra. Jensen was fairly certain Jared knew he wanted to propose and was probably justifiably nervous as well. Standing up to his father would be hard, but Jensen knew Jared was up to the challenge. When the cake plates were finally cleared away and the desert wine was being offered, Jensen cleared his throat and asked for everyone’s attention. It was the moment of truth._

_It didn’t go as planned._

_Jensen, hand still inside his waistcoat pocket, had barely begun his carefully chosen proposal when Jared, who’d been like a statue throughout the meal, suddenly began to laugh. At first, Jensen thought it was some sort of spontaneous, joyful emotion, but the words that came out of the lad’s mouth made no sense and, for a short while, Jensen could only stare at him. There was something about never living in a circus tent, but the only words Jensen was able to hang onto were the ones spoken with such vitriol that Jensen had to shake his head to make sure it was Jared he was watching speak and not George._

_“You would make me a whore, just like your mother?” Jared panted, outrage flushing his cheeks. “An Irish, three-penny upright who despised her life…” he paused, staring off for a moment before taking a steadying breath and continuing, “who despised you so much that taking her own life was preferable.”_

_There was some commotion before he continued on, shattering Jensen’s heart that much more into so many fragments it could never be made whole again. He squeezed the ring so tightly that the gemstones cut into his skin._

_“I suppose I should be outraged, but the whole thing is too bloody farcical to even give it a second thought,” Jared finished._

_He had managed, somehow, to return to his room after that, still reeling. Suddenly, he hated the sight of everything before his eyes. The next, clear recollection he had was standing in the ruins of his belongings, which he had evidently torn to pieces. He dropped down into the middle of his emotional maelstrom’s evidence and wept until dawn. By the time dreary gray light had cut through the gloom, he had carefully repacked what was left of his possessions and changed into his travelling clothes. By some twist of chance, the property deed and the ring had escaped his whirlwind of destruction. He pocketed both items and decided that, before he tucked tail and fled the manor, he would face Jared alone one last time._

_When there was a soft rap at the door, his disloyal heart jumped at the thought it might be Jared. Opening it, there was only a nervous maid standing there, offering him a message that changed his world for a second time in less than a day._

_His father had died and the sheikhdom was his._

_He had the woman, who had been waiting for a response, arrange for his luggage to be taken to the carriage waiting below and he was gone within the hour, never to return._

 

Jensen blinked, back in the moment. “Can’t expect him to understand,” he murmured and Tahmoh nodded in agreement, thinking that Jensen was in accord with him.

Jason squinted up at Tahmoh, before stretching across to slap the older sheikh’s calf. “You just want to inspect how pretty this boy is, to have beguiled our innocent Jensen.”

“Worthy!” Jensen called out. The tall man appeared within moments, bowing to all the collected sheikhs before facing Jensen.

“a'Tiinii Jared,” he ordered the chief eunuch, who left as silently as he came. Jensen switched from beer to his cache of Irish whiskey and knocked back a shot while he waited. The bite of the liquor was sharp, bitter and welcome. Several servants entered, some clearing away the empty dishes, while another lowered the curtain as the wind had picked up. Since that made the room darker, he lit a few candles and lamps before he left with the others.

Worthy returned with Jared in tow, like yesterday for the portrait, with Wisdom not far behind. When the chief stepped aside, Jensen inhaled raggedly. Words escaped him when he saw the young Englishman. He had made some rather specific requests of what he had wanted the boy to wear, but what was before him exceeded his expectations.

No longer in modest, ill-fitting shirts and loose pants, Jared was draped in sensuous silks of forest green and silver. The material clung to his body like a glove and left little to the imagination. His top, if one could even call it that, consisted of two skin tight sleeves of deep emerald that connected by a narrow, high-collared band of silk that ended at his collar bones, while wings of silver cloth hung from wrist to bicep. That left nearly his entire torso – lightly oiled, if the soft glow was anything to go by – exposed to every eye. His pants hung generously below his navel, also of darkest green shot through with silver threading. They were drawn tight across the groin and then billowed out until they were cinched at his ankles. Across his hips hung the diamond belt, sparkling in the wavering lamplight. His feet were bare.

Jensen couldn't tear his eyes away.

Tahmoh whistled lowly. “Jayyid jiddan.”

“Very good indeed,” Jason rasped in his rough baritone, switching back to English as he sat up.

Jensen finally cleared his throat and moved to stand near Jared, dismissing the guards with a single flick of his hand. Up close, Jensen noticed that Jared’s eyes were lined with kohl, which only served to further emphasize their exotic tilt. And he would swear on his life that the boy’s nipples had been rouged, judging by the way the gold hoops contrasted vividly against them. Even Jared’s wild mane had been somewhat tamed, hanging in shining waves across his painted eyes. So near to him that he was able to catch a whiff of something spicy – most likely the oil – and notice the tiny shivers dancing over the lad’s skin, Jensen slowly circled around him. Without meaning to, he lightly dragged his nose through the hairs at the back of Jared’s defenseless nape before appearing around the other side. As he stood to Jared’s left and observed the others in the room, Jensen realized _this_ was the moment he had been waiting for. In a place full of his peers, he could declare Jared to be just as wanting as the lad had done to him last summer. He could make Jared feel as worthless, too.

He drew himself upright and stood tall. “He’s easy enough…on the eyes,” he declared. “But, after tasting what he had to offer, I am not entirely sure he’s worth keeping.” With that, Jensen returned to his divan, where he sat down, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. His pose reeked of indolence. “I might want to offload him if either of you are interested,” he added airily, twisting the knife deep. Jared had paled considerably at his declaration.

Both Jason and Tahmoh exchanged interested glances, with Tahmoh finding his feet first. He walked over to Jared, studying him from top to bottom with excruciating slowness, taking almost the same route around the boy as Jensen had. When he came to a stop alongside the Englishman, he cleared his throat. “May I touch?” he asked Jensen, never once taking his eyes off the lad.

The question raised the hackles on the back of Jensen’s neck. He'd not anticipated that, nor had he expected his own reaction. “If you must,” he finally ground out and Tahmoh lifted up a hand, “but only above the waist.”

Tahmoh didn't acknowledge him, but stepped more fully in front of the boy and slid his hands firmly around Jared’s trim waist before dragging them up over his tense stomach to eventually catch his thumbs against the golden rings and tug them briefly. Jared hissed, but said nothing. His glare, however, spoke volumes. Tahmoh chuckled lowly.

“I see some fire there,” he observed smugly. “Since I can’t touch, drop your pants.”

Jensen sat up straight at Tahmoh’s demand. “Tahm,” he said darkly.

“Oh, come now, Jensen,” the other sheikh replied, finally twisting around to address him directly. “I’m hardly going to buy a pig in a poke. I’d like a gander at what I’m bidding on. Standard practice.” And Jensen once again remembered that at the slave markets, the prospective “merchandise” was always displayed naked.

“You know I would never cheat you,” he finally said. “Take my word for it that the lad is unblemished from head to toe, save those few beauty marks scattered about his entire body.” He hoped Tahmoh would drop the matter.

Instead, the other man grabbed a lamp and held it closer. At certain angles, Jensen realized that Jared’s trousers were nearly translucent that way. With a stiff jaw, Jensen was relegated to nothing more than an observer as Tahmoh leaned down and studied Jared’s groin. For his part, the young man flinched backward and balled his fists tight.

Just when Jensen had reached his breaking point, Tahmoh straightened up. “That explains it,” he said almost to himself, before returning the flickering lamp to its original spot. The flame danced about cheerfully.

“Explains it?” Jensen gritted out.

Moving back to Jared, he stood casually next to the boy and placed his right hand possessively around the back of Jared’s neck, sliding his thumb up and down a taut cord that stood out rigidly. The implied ownership in the stance was impossible to miss. “His fire.” Tahmoh turned slightly towards Jared, and Jared glared daggers back at him, standing just a hair taller than Tahmoh. “The insubordination that hasn’t been quenched when I look into his eyes,” he smirked. Swinging back around to Jensen, he stated baldly, “He is still intact. You haven’t had him gelded.”

Inwardly, Jensen cringed. He’d forgotten about the other sheikh’s predilection for that.

“If I’m to take him off your hands, I will want him castrated,” he continued. Jensen cast a quick glance at Jared and saw the lad’s trembling was clearly visible now and he was as white as a sheet. “I don’t care which of us does it. Either you can before he leaves here, or I can have it performed as soon as he’s a member of my harem.” The entire time he spoke, Tahmoh never once removed his hand from Jared’s neck.

Jensen recalled that every male in the other’s harem was a eunuch. Tahmoh, like some of the other sheikhs who kept both men and women in their harems, was concerned that the male concubines – if left intact – posed an inherent risk to the safety of the sheikh. Castrated, the belief was that the concubines were more docile and easily controlled. Seeing the quaking that Jared was trying to hold in, Jensen dragged a hand over his mouth. He had wanted Jared humiliated, to experience the same shame and worthlessness that Jensen had felt at that miserable dinner, but not this. He had never meant for Jared to be terrified that he would somehow be mutilated like that. The situation was spinning out of Jensen’s control.

“That's if you get him,” Jason interrupted and rose gracefully to his feet. “May I?” he asked Jensen. Jensen had little choice but to agree, otherwise it might be construed as an insult to the other sheikh.

Jason passed Tahmoh, who returned to his seat, and stepped around Jared – more like prowled, Jensen seethed inwardly – until he was behind the still frightened lad. Then Jason pressed up nearly flush against him. Although the two men were the same height, Jared had slunk down after Tahmoh’s threat, so it appeared that Jason was taller. The sheikh hooked his chin over the boy’s slender shoulder so that his bearded mouth was up against Jared’s right ear. Even from where he was sitting, Jensen noticed that each exhale of Jason’s sent a shiver wracking through Jared’s body. Jensen gripped the material of the divan so tightly it began to rip.

Dropping his hooded eyes down, Jason let his gaze wander freely over Jared’s torso. He placed his hands on the curve of the younger man’s shoulders before letting them trail down Jared’s sinewy arms until he caught Jared’s hands. Lacing his fingers with the boy’s, Jason slowly lifted Jared’s arms until they were stretched horizontal to the floor. The silver silk on his sleeves drooped down, giving Jared the appearance that he had the wings of some delicate bird.

“ _Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me_. _Oh that I had wings like a dove! For then would I fly away, and be at rest_ ,” echoed the words of the 55th psalm of the _King_ _James Bible_ , unbidden, in Jensen’s mind.

“Keep them there,” he said softly, shaking Jared’s arms once before releasing his grip. Jared did as he was told.

Jason then lowered his hands until he encircled Jared’s waist. He slowly rubbed one forefinger up and down Jared’s flat stomach, grazing the tender skin of the lad’s navel with every other pass, all the while staring at Jensen. “I think he’s perfect the way he is,” he rumbled. “I would make an offer to take him now.”

Jensen’s teeth were grinding. First Tahmoh terrified Jared near to the point of fainting and Jason had practically made love to the boy while he sat and watched. Touching that soft skin, pressing up against Jared’s firm backside (a feeling that still haunted Jensen’s every waking moment) like he already owned him, holding what was Jensen’s in his strong hands. His blood was boiling and raging through his body. He was certain he was coming unraveled.

“Worthy!” he barked.

Both eunuchs stepped in from the main chamber, already anticipating Jensen’s commands. Jensen tossed his chin forward and the two surrounded Jared while Jason took a step back. “Take him back,” he said harshly, so undone he spoke in English. He barely noticed that Jared appeared so frozen in place that it took more than gentle prodding by both men to get him turned around and out of the room. Jared cast one terrified glance over his shoulder and then he was gone.

Once it was only the three of them again, Jensen’s breathing began to level out. He was still furious, but it had changed directions and was presently pointed inwards. The moment had been perfect. Jared had been more than humiliated – he’d been terrified. Logically, it was a fitting punishment. But Jensen had melted in the face of the boy’s fears. Moreover, he’d been nearly overcome by a jealous rage when first Tahmoh and then Jason had laid hands on his boy, touching what was Jensen’s and Jensen’s alone. As he relaxed his hands, he noticed the material along the back of the divan had been gouged through. Realizing that both of the other sheikhs were watching him, he cleared his throat.

“Let me think on the matter, since it is crystal clear that either one of you would be willing to take him,” he snapped.

“More than willing,” Jason replied and it took everything within Jensen not to growl at that.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve had your eye on one of the Ankour harem,” Tahmoh quipped and, surprisingly enough, Jason ducked his head and blushed.

“What?” Jensen mumbled as he swiped his bottle of whiskey and poured himself another shot. Tossing it back, the liquor seemed cool going down his throat, compared to the hot blood coursing through his veins.

“It’s nothing, really,” Jason said quietly.

“It isn’t ‘nothing’,” Tahmoh corrected him. “He was quite besotted with a girl that ended up going to your father,” Tahmoh explained to Jensen. And he settled back to nurse his half-finished raki, the shadows from the wavering candlelight making his cheekbones more pronounced.

“Who?” Jensen asked, reduced to simple sentences as he attempted to rein himself in.

“Genevieve,” he answered.

Jensen grew thoughtful, trying to remember who that was. Eventually, the image of a petite woman with sloe-eyes and lovely, dark hair danced before him and he nodded.

Jason was staring at him and eventually sighed. “She and I had met once or twice when we were younger.” He immediately held up a hand as if to forestall some outrage on Jensen’s part, of which there was none. “There was nothing improper between us. Her father is Sheikh El-Amin and he had brought some of his daughters round as he searched for a match for them. I saw her then briefly. But he eventually decided your father would be a more suitable alliance. There was nothing more to it,” he finished, glaring at Tahmoh.

“The better man won out,” Tahmoh joked.

“I would be more than satisfied with your Jared,” Jason added, more than likely to show that he bore no ill will towards Jensen.

Jensen almost shouted out that Jason could have her, if it would make him pleased. He was willing to offer the other man anything to forget Jared. However, before he could say anything, the curtain snapped aside furiously, knocking over a vase with a loud clatter. They all started. Perhaps each man equally as distracted by Jared as the other, none of them had noticed the growing strength behind the breeze that had blown all day. Rising to his feet, all his muscles screaming in protest from how tightly Jensen had been clenching all over, the sheikh went to the window and peered outside.

Dimmer than it should have been for early evening, Jensen scanned the horizon until he spotted what he had been unconsciously seeking out. To the north, a dark cloud hovered directly above the ground, moving fast. With a sinking stomach, he recognized Al-Dabaran – the Follower. It was the last of the three summer shamals, the one Jake had reminded him a few weeks ago as running late. It was finally here.

Jason and Tahmoh flanked him at the window as he pointed out the sandstorm. “It’s too close for you both to leave,” he said. “Please feel free to take shelter here for the next few days,” he offered them. “I’ll have some of the servants take you to your rooms, but you will forgive me if I tend to my household now.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Jason asked as Tahmoh looked on earnestly.

“Nothing we all haven’t lived through before, but thank you for your offer,” he assured them even as some servants had entered hastily. Switching back to Arabic, Jensen ordered one of them to set Jason and Tahmoh up in temporary apartments and to see to their every need. Once the other sheikhs had departed, he urged the remaining servants to attend to Alaina and Jake.

“I can handle these rooms as well as my bedroom. Go where you’re needed more,” Jensen told them. The others did as ordered. Jensen counted on the various guards to secure the harem, making sure the concubines were kept protected as well.

Al-Dabaran was one of the more violent storms, but what was particularly annoying was the extremely fine dust it always carried, which got into everything. All available hands would cover every opening as best they could throughout the palace, tacking heavy drapes and even carpeting over windows and doorways to block out as much sand as possible. It would be a miserable few days, with everything closed up tight, reminding Jensen of those wretched, English rooms he’d lived in. However, it was all manageable.

Once Jensen had fastened the heavy drapes over the windows and terrace, he made his way to his private bedchamber. As he walked briskly along the corridors, he noticed the air of panic many of the servants had about them. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who had lost track of time and been caught unaware. Even with the Follower running later than normal this year, they all should have been better prepared. He resolved to himself that once the storm passed, he would send word along through the palace that they should practice how they could move quicker and be more organized for next summer.

When he finally reached his bedchamber, he ran to his desk first. Collecting all his papers, he shoved them in one of the drawers. Almost against his will, he opened the bottom one to assure himself the drawing Jared had given him was still there. When he saw it was, he slammed the drawer shut, cursing himself for his misplaced sentimentality. Then he rolled down the cover as an extra protection for the desk before dashing into his bath. Once he’d unlocked the gate, he pulled one of the carpets from the far corner over the empty tub since there was no way to block off the openings in the ceiling. At least this way, no dust would clog the drains.

Back in his bedroom, he struggled to light one of the more secure oil lamps as the sky had darkened suddenly. As soon as he was certain he wasn’t about to set his room unintentionally alight, the last thing he needed to attend to was the terrace entrance. As he approached one of the heavy drapes, the wind whipped up abruptly, momentarily catching up his thobe and wrapping it about his eyes. When he batted it back down, he took a moment to look at the view beyond the gardens and caught his breath in wonder.

Steel gray clouds stacked up over turquoise blue ones like bruises on skin. And coming down from the north, a bloody, orange cloud made living ploughed forward across the sands. At best guess, it was a mile high and at least six miles wide. Already, stronger gusts of wind began to buffet against Jensen’s skin, making him wince at the sting. And those gusts were merely harbingers of the true force behind the behemoth moving inexorably closer with each minute that passed. Not for the first time, he couldn’t help but be reminded of his mother and how a similar beast had swallowed her up. The pricking at his eyes had nothing to do with the sand that was starting to blow into them.

Shaking himself from his trance, Jensen seized one side of the heavy material and began to draw it across the terrace. He had to squint against the biting winds and nearly missed the odd flash of movement he caught from the corner of his eye. He paused, swiping at his face and scrutinized the gardens more closely. He was about to dismiss it as a figment of his imagination when it happened again. Someone was darting through the garden erratically. Jensen released the drapes and moved out onto the terrace to get a better look at whom it was, fully planning on chastising whichever servant it turned out to be for wasting time outside when they should have been battening down the palace. He stood there, gripping the terrace railing, his thobe slapping behind him violently in the wind, waiting for whoever it was to move again. Finally, the person slipped out from behind a pillar and Jensen’s stomach sank.

It was Jared.

As if in a dream, he watched the Englishman – clad once more in simpler clothes – toss what looked like several sheets tied end to end into the air when he neared the wall. As the makeshift rope flew up, there was an odd flash along the end of it. Only when that glinting loop hooked around a small, decorative ornament at the top of the wall did Jensen realize what it was – the diamond belt he’d forced Jared to wear. Jared tugged hard before he began to scale the wall despite the pounding winds. When he reached the top, Jared hoisted himself upright and steadied himself as best he could as he gathered up his rope. Despite all odds, the lad found his footing and began a teetering walk along the narrow path that connected the rooves of the various hallways below him – a path that led to the outer perimeter of the palace.

“Jared!” Jensen finally screamed when he found his voice, arm outstretched. His shout was carried away by the harsh winds.

Somehow, though, Jared must have heard him, because he stopped and whipped his head around until he spotted Jensen. The boy stared at him for no more than a heartbeat before turning back and scrambling to the end of the last wall. Without a backward glance, Jared dropped the rope and disappeared over the side.

Once more, Jensen frantically took in the Follower. It was a rolling beast of rocks and churning sand, barreling forward with no regard to what it destroyed and Jared had just run out into it.

“Jared!” he howled uselessly, but the boy was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir William Phelips and Montacute House, both mentioned here and in chapter 17, were accurately portrayed. Sir William started off wealthy, eventually became insane and had to be locked up for his own good. Of course, this was after he had gambled away huge chunks of the estate's lands. He supposedly once placed a ridiculously large bet on which of two flies would reach the bottom of a window pane first. He lost. His son was forced to sell their silver and artworks and the family eventually had to let out the house. They left in 1911, never to return.


	21. Chapter 21

Gripping the railing so hard that his fingers had whitened and his knuckles threatened to split through the thin skin of his hands, it took every, last ounce of self-control Jensen possessed not to vault over the terrace and chase after his boy. He swore his heart dropped into his stomach with a sickening lurch the moment Jared disappeared from view. But with no way to scale the wall as Jared had (and even in his terror, he had a grudging admiration for the lad’s ingenuity at choosing the perfect moment of utter pandemonium to escape), his reason came to the fore and he spun around to return to his chamber. He grabbed a particularly large bisht and as soon as he had that voluminous garment draped over himself, he placed his kufiya on and haphazardly wound the igal around his forehead to hold the headdress in place. His choices were not affectations, but necessities for what he was about to do. Lastly, he grabbed his janbiya and tucked it close.

Securing the room, he practically raced down the hallways, heedless of what kind of picture he must have painted, certain he bore no resemblance to his father’s dispassionate and steady presence in times of crisis. He hurried past servants and guards alike, barely noting how they slapped drapes and rugs over every window and doorway, frantic to block up any and all openings, no matter how big or small. At the very least, he should have been overseeing their efforts, if not outright assisting them, but he only had one thought burning in his mind – Jared.

Slipping out of the palace proper, he was almost to the stables when he met Jacob, who was walking briskly back in the opposite direction. He grabbed Jensen by the forearm and jerked him to a halt as Jensen made to pass him. “It’s all done, brother,” he told Jensen.

Staring down at him with uncomprehending eyes, all Jensen could muster was, “What?”

“The horses, including your beloved, are all secure. I checked on them personally,” he said, voice slowly rising to be heard above the low wail of the encroaching storm. “We need to go back inside.”

Jensen shook his head. “Camels,” he said.

Jake cocked his head, his face pinched in confusion. “They’re safe as well. Come on, Jensen,” he added, tugging on his brother’s arm for emphasis, but the older man easily shook himself free.

“Jared’s gone and I’m going to bring him back,” he shouted over his shoulder and kept moving towards the stables. His pronouncement made Jake freeze in his tracks. By the time he had processed his brother’s words and made some sense of them, Jensen was already within the animals’ enclosure.

Striding past the stalls with single-minded purposefulness and ignoring most of the restless whinnies and stomping feet around him, Jensen barely gave his steed, Shaitan, any acknowledgment save to announce, “You’re not the one I need today, boy,” before turning a corner to enter the portion of the stables that housed the secondary set of stalls. Unlike the horses, the camels were less fussed about the storm and most chewed their cuds or lazily flicked their tails as though it were any other evening. He stopped in front of one of the stalls, eyeing the pale, cream colored beast critically.

“I am sorry to put you through this, Aroob, but you’re the best one for it,” he murmured as he dragged out the female camel’s saddle and tack. In a matter of moments, she was outfitted and ready to ride. The camel eyed him disinterestedly and continued chewing.

While he was lashing a water skin to the animal’s side, Jake came tearing into view. “What are you doing?” he practically screamed as he grabbed Jensen and spun him away from the camel.

Jensen shook him off and then seized his little brother up by the shoulders. “Jared is out in that savageness and I am going to find him.”

Jake clasped Jensen’s arms in return, fear paling his face. “You can’t, Jensen. It’s too dangerous now. We need you here. He-he,” the boy stuttered, blue eyes wide, licking his lips frantically, “he’s not worth losing you.”

“He’s worth everything,” Jensen hissed back, shaking Jake’s shoulders soundly before releasing the lad. He clicked sharply and Aroob folded her legs underneath her as she sank to the stable floor with surprising elegance for a creature that large. Running his hands over his gear one final time, Jensen then effortlessly swung himself up onto the saddle before locking his right leg in place under his left. Another click of his tongue and the nearly-white camel rose to her feet and Jensen began to drive her toward the gates.

“Jensen,” Jake screamed uselessly after him.

Jensen twisted around and shouted over his shoulder, “I will see you again, little brother.” He righted himself and pulled one corner of his kufiya over and across most of his face, tucking the end into the igal to hold it snug against him. With his nose and mouth protected and his eyes somewhat shielded, he cried, “Hut, hut, hut!” and Aroob broke into a trot. A look back and Jensen saw his sibling clinging to one of the gates as though for dear life before finally pulling it shut. The clang it made was swallowed up by the sharp hiss of the Follower.

In the time it had taken for Jensen to gather his supplies and ready his mount, the last of the summer’s shamals had descended upon them. Whatever light remained before sunset was nearly obliterated by the beast, which rose like a giant wave just off to his right and touched the sky. Jensen did his best to ignore the wall of sand that was bearing down on him and, once he’d cleared the palace walls, began a careful route around the perimeter, using the structure as a visual guide. He knew where Jared had fled from and planned to use that as a starting point in his search.

Although his clothes protected him from much of the scathing sting of sand and wind – protection Jared would be sorely lacking himself – he still found it necessary to squint as the tiny particles batted viciously at his eyes. Aroob suffered no such difficulties. The pale camel, with her curious thatch of dark brown hair that sat like a crown between her ears, had not one but two sets of thick, curly eyelashes, as did all camels. Coupled with her bushy eyebrows, she could handle the sand much better than a horse or human. And, when it became absolutely necessary, she had a third lid that dropped over her eyes for additional protection, but was transparent enough for her to see through. While Jensen hacked and coughed as fine bits of grit scoured his nose and throat, Aroob could seal off her nostrils at will, further guarding her airway from the worst of the storm.

As Jensen neared where he believed Jared to have escaped, he studied the wall closely. In the eerie, half-light of the gloaming, he nearly missed the flapping cloth that slapped and twisted in the growing gale. But, sure enough, there was Jared’s makeshift rope, almost accusing in the way it snapped at him. Luckily or not (depending on how one viewed it), the west side of the wall was free of thorn trees. Jared couldn’t have chosen a better spot and must have been able to land on the ground unscathed, although there was no trace of him. Trying to find footprints was useless. Already, the sand danced and swirled around in a mad waltz, erasing whatever signs the fleeing Englishman might have left behind. And Jensen knew that with a storm this ferocious, entire dunes would march across the land in short order and bury anything in their path. The landscape was rewriting itself.

Turning his head from side to side, Jensen strained to catch even a glimpse of the lad. The dark clothes he recalled Jared wearing did little to aid Jensen as whatever light remained was almost snuffed out. Jared would be nothing more than a dark ghost in an obsidian maelstrom in short order. He began to wrack his brains, trying to anticipate what Jared would do and think like him. The boy would be panicked, of that there was no doubt, but he had to believe Jared wanted to live. He had to hang onto the hope that his sense of survival was stronger than his obvious despair. Tucking his kufiya higher across his face, it came to Jensen. Not too far to the west was a small series of rock outcroppings and a few splits in the bedrock that one might generously call caves. They were the only break in the desolate landscape and not easily missed under normal conditions. There was every chance Jared had seen them when he had been brought into Jensen’s city and they would be the only possible shelter for miles in any direction. It had to be where the lad had headed.

The storm was reaching a fever pitch and voice commands were useless, so Jensen nudged Aroob along with his knees. It was the reason he had chosen her out of all the others, as she was the most responsive to touch of his entire herd. Sometimes, like all camels, she chose not to obey, but she always recognized the commands. Despite the wind, which shoved at them from the right like a multitude of brutish hands, Jensen was confident they were headed in the general direction of the rocks. He scanned the ground, not able to see past a few feet in front of them, and kept a tight rein on Aroob. Everything in him was screaming to move faster and save Jared, but, intellectually, he knew he had to be methodical in his search – he wouldn’t be granted a second chance, of that he was certain.

Although he grasped the futility of it, he found he couldn’t stop himself from shouting Jared’s name again and again. He cupped his hands around his mouth, thinking that might help, but he wasn’t even able to hear his own voice. There was no way that Jared could. With only the shriek of the storm ringing in his ears, he gave up. Pulling his robe more tightly about his body, he hunched low over the camel as they pressed on. The sand and currents were like daggers that tried to flay what skin from his body it could reach. If he didn’t find Jared soon, there would be nothing left of the boy to find. With grim determination, he pushed his mount farther on, heedless of the growing danger, and convinced himself that, unlike his mother, he wouldn't lose his boy.

The great wall of sand finally crashed over Jensen then and he was swallowed up by the brute. If he hadn’t been astride, he was sure he would have been lost. With the near absolute darkness and the banshee screams of the wind, it was as though there was no top or bottom to the world and he found himself near-dizzy from it all. Once again, he marveled at Aroob and her ability to march on, unruffled by the sound and fury. Perhaps, to her, it truly signified nothing as Shakespeare had writ. Jensen should be so fortunate.

Time lost all meaning to him as they lumbered on. He had plunged, headfirst, into his personal hell on earth and there was no escaping it. Somewhere, in the belly of the monster, was the only person he had ever fallen in love with; someone who needed him desperately. He refused to surrender to defeat. As a powerful gust of wind buffeted against him with just about enough force to knock him from his camel, Jensen struggled to keep his seat. He was so absorbed with righting himself that he almost missed the dark shape not more than twenty paces ahead and to his left, at the very limit of his field of vision. Painfully cracking his eyes open wider, he noticed the shadowy lump remained constant while everything else about it was chaos. Urging Aroob closer, his heart began to thud against his ribs. When he was near enough, he forced himself to wind the reins about his wrist several times before signaling the camel to lower herself.

As he straightened up and tried to unlock his cramped leg muscles, he had to reassure himself he was truly on the ground. The Follower had consumed the desert and there was no sky and no earth, only the howls of a mad animal. The lack of any frame of reference was nearly nauseating and he swallowed back bile even as the granules that had worked their way into his mouth scraped his throat raw. With a firm grasp of the reins in his right hand, Jensen took great, staggering strides – like a man drunk – towards the form huddled pitifully on the ground before him. All the while, ever-changing patterns of sand danced a mad jig over the piles of rags.

Dropping to his knees, Jensen reached out with uncertain hands and smoothed them along the dark shape until he brushed up against what had to have been Jared’s hair. For a brief moment, he winced as he found he could no longer run his fingers through the boy’s mane. It had become stiff and unwieldy in the onslaught. “Jared!,” he yelled, but he might as well have saved his breath, for nothing could be heard over the deafening roar of the Follower. As he bent lower and tried to hear or feel any sign of life from the young Englishman, a blast of wind ripped at his robe and practically pulled the garment up over his head, cocooning the two of them briefly. Cover. They needed shelter.

Without a second thought, Jensen scooped Jared’s unresisting form up into his arms and tugged on Aroob’s reins. The animal dutifully stood – her deceptively sturdy legs unaffected by the buffeting squalls – and lumbered closer. Shifting the limp body in his arms and trying to ignore how greatly that unnerved him, Jensen wrapped as much of his bisht around them both as he could, paying special attention to blanket the boy’s head. Keeping the camel between him and the north wind, Jensen used her to shield them from the worst of the gusts and together they plodded onward, with the camel slightly in the lead. With no landmarks whatsoever to aid him, Jensen decided they were probably closer to the sheltering caves at this point than the palace behind them. And he could not be sure that if he were to turn them about, they would actually be headed on the correct course. The storm was so severe, there was a very real chance they could pass right by the city and never know it, lost forever to the desert.

Suddenly, above the screeching of the Follower, there was a horrendous crackling. Struggling to see over his shoulder, Jensen caught the fading flash of lightening. While not uncommon in a sandstorm, the meteorological phenomenon made their situation more dire. As they were the tallest objects around, the strikes would seek them out as targets; Jensen had seen it happen once before and had no desire to ever again. He pushed against Aroob’s side to hurry her along, although she remained unflappable even in the face of their newest challenge. The only bit of good luck was that with each flash of blueish light, their immediate location was lit up bright as day. The curtain of sand meant that there wasn't much to see, but Jensen was able to make out something uneven in the landscape in front of them.

He hoisted Jared closer to him and tried not to think about how unmoving and limp he was. Another burst of illumination and, like an uneasy Orpheus, he couldn't resist casting another glance over his shoulder. And, like that tragic Greek, he wished he hadn’t. Not only was the lightening closer, but a sand devil had sprung up in the midst of the maelstrom and appeared to be bearing down on them as well. His father’s people believed them to be the embodiment of the djinn, evil and vengeful. However, as he held onto Jared and hastened his pace as best he could, he couldn't help but to think on Goethe’s _Der_ _Erlkönig_ and that it was that fae lord nipping at his heels, desperate to steal the boy from his arms just as he had the son in the poem. Unlike that unfortunate father, however, Jensen had no intention of losing what he had fought to regain.

The next strike had him nearly dropping to the ground with its ferocity, but it revealed that the outcropping was within reach. Despite the fact that the sound went unheard, Jensen crowed in victory. Even Aroob seemed to have spotted the potential shelter and aimed unerringly for it. Within only a few minutes, Jensen was stumbling and picking his way across the rough scatter of rocks that were underfoot. The first split in the outcropping that he found was no more than a crevice and he was barely able to pass more than an arm within it, but the second turned out to be just large enough for him to tuck himself, Jared and most of Aroob inside.

With her head angled inside, the bulk of the camel’s body, once lowered, sealed up the opening quite effectively. The darkness was nearly impenetrable, save for the occasional flashes of icy blue-white that illuminated the edges of Aroob like St. Elmo’s fire. Other than that, there was only black. The enclosure muffled some of the horrendous howls and Jensen couldn't help but sigh in relief, some of the tension he held within slowly uncoiling. He gingerly laid Jared, as best he could, on the ground, placing his hand on the lad’s chest afterward. He sent up a soft prayer when it rose and fell with comforting regularity. Feeling along Aroob’s side for the water skin, which had survived their arduous trek intact, he set about blindly tending to the young Englishman. He yanked his igal and kufiya free, pouring some of the precious water onto the headdress. Timing his actions with the sporadic flashes of light, Jensen proceeded to dab the cloth carefully along Jared’s face, paying special care to the tender skin around and near the lad’s eyes, which was raw and abraded. As he cleared away much of the sand that had collected there, as well as within his nose and the delicate shells of his ears, he felt Jared shift under his touch slightly.

Dipping his head closer to the boy’s ear, Jensen whispered hopefully, “Jared?”

“Mmm…” the lad moaned and started to thrash about unexpectedly and violently.

Jensen tried, as best he could in the dark, to catch Jared’s flailing limbs. In the cramped quarters, he was afraid Jared would injure himself further with his frenzied outburst, as clearly disoriented as he was. Throwing a leg across the boy’s hips to straddle him, Jensen caught him by his wrists. He tried again to reach him. “Jared, stop! You’re safe now!”

Just then, another blast of light blinked inside their cave and Jensen was able to see Jared clearly for that brief instant. The lad’s eyes were impossibly wide and his face was frozen in a rictus of fear. Jensen kneeled more fully in front of him, eclipsing the light, and clasped him by his shoulders. “You’re safe, Jared. I promise you!” And he shook him in the hopes of rousing him from the half-stupor he was trapped in.

Even though the storm’s raging was muted within the cave, the screech and yowls of the wind were still frighteningly loud. But Jensen was able to hear Jared as clear as day over them as he screamed in an already ravaged voice, “No! Let me out! Let me out!” And he struggled harder as soon as the light flickered.

Jensen was dumbstruck. He knew Jared had woken up terrified and confused, but to want to flee back into the maelstrom Jensen had delivered them from hadn’t an ounce of reason behind the plan. Even as part of him feared that Jared was terrified of _him_ , he began to realize that Jared was simply terrified. His eyes, while wide open, hadn’t actually been focused on anything. All Jared had seen was a small, dark space and something tickled at Jensen’s memories even as he struggled to contain the scared boy. Jared kicked and swung out with his fists, but there was no rhyme or reason to his movements. Aroob snuffled and adjusted her head out of his reach, but obviously did not intend to budge. There was no way that Jared was getting out of their makeshift shelter.

“It’s all right,” Jensen continued to reassure him, although he suspected Jared was beyond hearing anything at that point. He shuffled around and pressed up against Jared’s back, wrapping his arms tight about the boy’s torso and trapping his swinging arms against himself. With the cave wall at his back, Jensen pulled Jared against him more fully and hooked his legs over Jared’s, effectively trapping him in place. “Shh,” he soothed softly, even as he began to rock the younger man. “You’re safe.”

His words did little to lessen Jared’s fears. Instead, his inability to move heightened his panic and he began to wheeze and gasp, as though he couldn’t take a proper breath. Jensen felt the trip hammer beat of Jared’s heart against his own chest, like the fluttering of a caged bird’s wings. Unsure of what to do, Jensen held on tighter until Jared eventually went limp, head lolling against Jensen’s shoulder. Loosening his grip, an equally frightened Jensen shifted Jared so that he was cradling the lad’s shoulders in his left arm, with Jared’s head tipped against the crook of his neck.

“Jared?” he exhaled, tapping at the unconscious boy’s face gently. It was to no avail as Jared was completely unresponsive. Jensen lowered his hand and ran it up against Jared’s chest, closing his eyes reflexively in relief as he tracked the calamitous beat as it slowed and began to even out. Dropping his head back with a dull thump as it struck the rock wall behind him, Jensen drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm himself. He stroked his free hand along the lad’s face, as much to soothe himself as Jared, wincing inwardly when his fingers caught on the strands of hair that were as stiff and unwieldy as straw.

And as he started to breathe more easily, the memory that had flashed at the corners of his mind a few moments ago came into crystal focus.

 

_Like Poe’s raven there was an incessant tapping at his window. Jensen’s nerves were already wound tight from George’s baiting and he was nigh on close to exploding. If that damned bird didn’t cease his pecking, he wouldn’t be long for this world._

_Unable to take it any longer, Jensen practically flew over to the window, which was at the end of a tiny alcove that projected out of the sloped roof. He flung open the casement, prepared to shout at the feathered creature if necessary, but froze in shock at what he found staring back at him._

_Hanging over the roof of the dormer window was Jared, dangling like an African monkey, waving his hand in front of Jensen’s startled face._

_“I cannot believe you, Jared,” Jensen hissed as he accepted the outstretched hand._

_Jared was near giddy and grinning like a madman. “I’ve done this a hundred times before. Trust me.”_

_Helping him manage the window ledge, Jared led them carefully up the gently sloped roof until they reached the iron rail of the widow’s watch and hopped over. Shaking his head, part in bemusement and partly still in shock, he watched as Jared flopped down onto his back, stretching like a cat on the hard surface. Jensen reluctantly joined him to stare up at the vast expanse of the night sky spread above them._

_“Wasn’t it worth it?” Jared whispered, once he had caught his breath._

_“Yes, it was,” Jensen agreed, unable to keep the smile from his face as a sense of calm washed over him. The boy was gazing at the stars and hadn’t caught Jensen’s softened expression. He took the opportunity to study the younger boy’s face, bathed as it was in pale starlight. With his high cheekbones and tilted eyes, there was a fae quality about the lad that Jensen found undeniably enchanting. Jensen chuckled ruefully then as he realized he was actually mooning over the boy. Fortunately, Jared was none the wiser and Jensen settled back to enjoy the tapestry of stars and planets that unfolded above them._

_For more than an hour, he and Jared pointed out and identified various heavenly bodies and exchanged their countries’ interpretations of what the shapes meant, neither being much different from the other in the grand scheme of things. Eventually, they lapsed into silence. It was strangely soothing and comforting, Jensen realized, and he felt no need to immediately fill it up with words. Eventually, however, his curiosity got the better of him._

_“You said you’ve done this hundreds of times?” he found himself inquiring._

_“Mm hmm,” Jared, off to his left, hummed noncommittally. Jensen might have let the matter lie, but he saw the boy twitch his hand almost nervously._

_“Why is that?” he prodded. “Not a fan of the English architecture?” he teased. Jensen himself detested the boxy rooms and low ceilings of the manor house, feeling like he couldn’t truly breathe within their confines. He imagined Jared, with his domineering father and endless tutors trapping him between those walls, must have felt somewhat the same._

_“Not particularly,” he agreed, but there was a slight hitch in his voice. Jensen knew there was something more and couldn’t explain to himself his need to press the matter; he only knew this was something of great import._

_“What do you come up here to escape from, Jared?” he wondered kindly, rolling slightly towards him, the stars no longer of any interest to Jensen._

_He watched as Jared took an uneven breath, held it for a beat too long and then exhaled. He twisted just his head to look Jensen squarely in the eye. “Promise not to mock me?” he asked in a small voice._

_Jensen had a ready retort on the tip of his tongue, but the serious and simultaneously timid expression on the young Englishman’s face stopped him. Jensen knew, better than most, what it was like to be scorned and derided. He would be the last one to heap such things on Jared. “I promise,” he intoned solemnly._

_Jared searched his face and, apparently satisfied with what he found there, rolled his head back to face the sky, although Jensen was sure Jared was no longer seeing the twinkling lights. “When I was nearly six, James and I were playing a game of hide-and-seek. I was fortunate that a young man like my brother would still play with his baby sibling. But he never let the eight years that separated us in age come between us in any meaningful way._

_“Well, I was chuffed with myself, being the one who had to hide, because I had found a large trunk in the attic that I was sure would make a perfect spot to secret myself away in. When I opened it, which was a struggle as I was a fairly small child, I was delighted to find it almost empty. So, without further ado, I clambered inside, eager to close the lid so that James wouldn’t be able to find me.” Jared stopped for a moment and seemed to gather himself. Without knowing why, Jensen snaked his hand over and wrapped the younger man’s up with his._

_“What I had no notion of was how physics and gravity really worked,” Jared continued slowly. “So as I tugged and struggled with the lid from where I stood inside the trunk, I thought I heard James’ thudding footsteps on the stairs. That gave me a burst of energy and I managed to raise the lid up to the apex of its arc. However, I didn’t count on how hard and heavy it would continue its downward swing. It struck my head and knocked me unconscious. Furthermore, as the trunk had a spring latch, I was unknowingly locked inside it.”_

_Jared exhaled noisily and Jensen noticed the lad’s hand had become clammy with perspiration. He squeezed his in an automatic response, wanting to comfort and calm him, since he couldn’t change the past._

_“Needless to say,” he chuckled, although there was no mirth in it, “I had discovered an excellent hiding spot. When I finally awoke, it took me a bit to figure out where I was. All I knew was it was dark and tight and I suddenly had it in my head that I couldn’t breathe.”_

_Jensen moved more fully onto his side and rubbed along Jared’s tense arm with his right hand, brushing against the fine, swallowtail coat that was probably getting dirty along its back. He could only imagine how terrifying that must have been to a child as sensitive as Jared._

_“From what I’m told,” he went on softly, “eventually James heard my screaming, tracked it to the attic and smashed the lock to get me out.” And then he fell silent._

_“You don’t remember?” Jensen murmured, still stroking the lad’s arm gently._

_Words failed him in the moment and Jared shook his head from side to side. “No,” he finally said, “I couldn’t remember much except that confined spaces would make my heart race and breathing nigh on impossible after that.” Casting a sidelong glance at Jensen, Jared confessed, “It is something that my father found to be an effective punishment as I was growing up. An hour or so in a wardrobe and I was quite willing to behave.”_

_Jensen’s vision grew hazy and crimson at the thought of George treating his son in such a fashion. It was true enough that sometimes parents resorted to fear and cautionary tales to instill lessons when necessary, but not outright torture. A low growl escaped his throat unknowingly and he realized that their positions had reversed and now Jared was rubbing along Jensen’s arm, cooing and shushing him._

_Through a fog, he heard Jared as he promised, “It’s all right now, Jensen. I’m safe. It’s fine,” he repeated again and again._

_“No, it is decidedly not fine,” Jensen croaked when he was once again able to speak._

_There were tears pooling in Jared’s eyes. “I have all of this now,” he motioned to the sky. “And- and,” he paused, suddenly shy, “I have you, don’t I?”_

_Reaching over to thumb away a tear that threatened to spill from the boy’s enigmatic eyes, Jensen replied, “Yes, you do.”_

It was Jared’s fear of dark, cramped spaces that had overcome the lad. How could he have forgotten? He bounced his head against the cave wall like a metronome while cursing himself for being ten times a fool for not remembering. But there was nothing to be done for it. They needed to stay exactly where they were until both the storm had passed and they had light enough to navigate by. And, judging by the way the sand hissed and slithered over their shelter, it would be several, long hours before either of those things happened. As he squeezed Jared closer, Jensen hoped the younger man would remain unconscious even though Jared’s stillness was disquieting. In the end, he knew it would be easier on him.

Leaning down towards Jared’s ear, he breathed, “You’re all right now. You’re fine. I have you.” And he hoped the words would somehow reach the boy in his insensate condition and succor him.

For hours, Jensen held Jared, rocked him occasionally and tried not to dwell on the chain of events that had led them there. While he drank water sparingly, he didn’t yet offer any to Jared. He’d seen injured men after skirmishes choke and gag on it if they were insensible and he wanted to spare him any undue suffering. But, at the same time, he itched to do something and bridled at his inability to. Aroob, for her part, had settled into a rather sound sleep. Her tough hide protected her exposed side from the storm and with her head inside the cave, she was content enough. She could go for days and days without food or water and not even notice.

Out of all the ways that Jensen had imagined languishing the night away with Jared in his arms, this had never even played into his most extreme fantasies. As he jostled and readjusted his grip on the lax boy, the only company he had was his own, troubled mind. 

Although the most immediate threat had passed, he still had to reconcile with the fact that his actions had driven Jared to not only flee from him, but run headlong into a raging storm that spelled certain, painful death. He had never meant for the other sheikhs to go as far as they had with their touches and threats, but he couldn't deny his complicity in the whole matter. Without him placing Jared before them, none of this would have transpired. But even as Jensen instinctively hugged the lad closer, knuckles brushing against his cheek, he could not dispel the darker urges that still poisoned his heart. He had not wanted Jared to suffer so, but he had wanted him to suffer. His wounded heart screamed for the boy to ache and bleed as Jensen had that hateful day. It was only just. 

When the fates had seen fit to drop Jared right into his lap, Jensen was certain it was a sign that he was meant to reap his vengeance and finally be at peace. But peace had been the very opposite of what had wrapped him up from the moment he had once again laid eyes on the wounded Englishman. He couldn't deny his heart was crying, but he was no longer as sure as to what it cried for. The only certainty Jensen had was that he was not ready to let Jared go. Their lives were locked together, for better or worse. Without noticing it, his grip gradually tightened and he tried not to dwell on anything more. 

Jensen wasn't sure if what he had fallen into was a true sleep, but he passed what must have been several hours in that twilight state, lulled by the warm, even breaths that puffed against his chest in steady counterpoint to the squalling gusts outside. He might have continued on in such a fashion if not for two occurrences – the slight, nearly imperceptible lightening of their rock cairn and an odd sizzling that had nothing to do with the sand that continued to brush and whisper against their shelter even as the winds had begun to slowly relent, the spaces of quiet between their bursts growing longer and longer.  

Aroob shifted uneasily and snorted. Jensen slowly lowered Jared to the ground and reached for his curved dagger, eyes darting frantically about and on guard. Finally, he spotted the source of the sound. Off to one side, twisted into a curved shape, a horned viper rubbed its coils together rapidly in anger. The pale serpent, nearly three feet long, was agitated that its home had been invaded and was ready to strike. Though the venom was painful, it was not usually fatal to a healthy adult. However, there was something in its poison that prevented wounds from closing properly, and a bite could bleed uncontrollably and that could prove deadly given their current predicament. 

Slowly sliding himself completely free from Jared's body, Jensen was grateful that camels, unlike horses, did not panic at the presence of snakes. If she had, both Jared and he would have been seriously injured, given their tight quarters. Instead, she blinked her eyes slowly and watched the tableau unfold. Wrapping his fingers more tightly around his janbiya, Jensen pushed himself to his knees and lunged forward just as the horned creature struck. With uncanny accuracy, Jensen caught the serpent under its wide, triangular head and slashed upwards mercilessly. The snake's body continued to writhe sideways along the sand, but its head was flung far enough away not to be an immediate concern any longer. 

Jensen let out a long exhale as he sheathed his knife, while Aroob snorted and then passed wind. He was hard pressed not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

Composing himself, it struck him that he had no way of knowing if the creature had bitten Jared, given how deeply he was unconscious. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that the snake had gotten Jared before Jensen had become completely aware of the situation. Crawling down to the boy’s feet, Jensen began to examine the Englishman for any wounds. As if sensing what he needed, Aroob shifted enough to increase the gap at the mouth of their cave, letting in more of the pale light that was slowly seeping out of the darkness. Dawn couldn’t have been more than an hour away. 

Slowly running his hands along the delicate arches of Jared’s feet, he didn’t find a trace of a bite, but he winced nonetheless as he took in their ragged appearance. Shaking his head, he slid his palms up the length of the boy’s shins, before cupping his muscular calves and feeling nothing but unblemished, smooth skin. Freeing himself from the tangle of Jared’s torn trousers, he wanted to preserve some of the lad’s dignity (he ignored the nagging voice that mocked him for his current “thoughtfulness”) and continued his inspection above the material. He couldn’t find anything amiss and let his head hang down between his shoulders in relief. However, as he pulled away, the fingers of his left hand inadvertently brushed against something at the boy’s groin that only registered as _not right_ in his head. There was a hardness that wasn’t natural there. 

Sucking in his upper lip, Jensen only hesitated only for an instant before his hands were at the ties to Jared’s sirwal. Loosening them, he parted the waist enough to reveal the bare expanse of Jared’s hips and, beneath that, a golden cage that trapped the lad’s manhood. Jensen blinked and then blinked again. He had heard of such things, but had never in his life expected to see a chastity device. Almost against his will, he dragged a finger over the metal framework and swallowed something sour when he noticed the cage was actually locked in place. Shooting his gaze back to Jared’s lax face and seeing the beginnings of flickering beneath his lids, Jensen hastily retied the boy’s pants with trembling fingers. Dragging a hand down over his mouth and scratchy beard, Jensen sat back on his haunches. Something was gravely amiss and he vowed he would have answers before the new day was over. 

Jared moaned softly and tossed his head about. Jensen knelt by his shoulders and placed a steadying hand there to hold him still, but not restrain him as he had before. He hoped that with the weak light within the small chamber, Jared might not be quite so startled when he came fully around. “Shh,” he said softly. “You’re safe, Jared.” 

Like ashen butterfly wings, Jared’s lashes batted fitfully before the lad finally opened his eyes partway. Jensen thought that Jared wasn’t completely aware yet and decided that was a good thing. Cradling the boy’s head with one hand, he brought the water skin to Jared’s parched and cracked lips and slowly trickled some in. “Just a little,” he told the confused lad. “That’s it. That’s it,” he praised him. He eventually pulled the skin away even though Jared chased it with his mouth. “Too much and you’ll be ill,” he explained as he replaced the stopper and set the bag aside. The water seemed to revive the young Englishman. Jensen watched as alertness poured back into his eyes; eyes made more blue by the terrible redness surrounding them. Even as Jensen noticed the discoloration, Jared raised a hand to rub them. 

“You’ll only make it worse,” he warned and made to catch the boy’s arm. As he reached out, Jared flinched and pushed himself backward until he collided with the far wall. Jensen wasn’t surprised by his reaction, but he was startled by how much it wounded him. He sat back and held his hands up, palms outward, to show Jared he meant no harm. But Jared was no longer looking at him. Instead, he whipped his head about, eyes practically rolling as he took in their shelter. As if on cue, his breathing began to pick up and Jensen knew if he didn’t do something quickly, Jared would be lost to another paroxysm of fear. So, despite the fact that he knew Jared wouldn’t welcome his touch, he crawled toward the panting boy and gripped his shoulders firmly. 

“We are in a small cave, Jared,” he explained steadily. “There is plenty of air to breathe, so you can calm down.” An idea came to Jensen and he caught one of the lad’s hands and trapped it with his own against his chest. “See? I can breathe just fine,” and he sucked in a deep breath to prove his point, before exhaling slowly, making a show of it all. “If I can breathe, so can you.” And he repeated the motions until he noticed that Jared wasn’t gasping as frantically. “If you look over my shoulder, you’ll see Aroob and behind her hulking body, the sky beyond. We are only a few steps from outside. You see?” he asked evenly. 

Jared’s gaze wavered between Jensen and Aroob and he swallowed several times. From the way he grimaced, Jensen was sure his throat had been severely scoured by his time in the storm. “I,” he rasped and Jensen winced at the raw sound, “I can’t stay in here. Please,” he begged, “please let me out of here.” Even as he pleaded, his eyes filled with tears and he hissed, wiping at them furiously. The salt must have stung terribly. 

Jensen caught his wrist and pulled it back. “You will only worsen them like that, Jared,” he told him with no small amount of pity in his voice. 

“They burn,” he whimpered and Jensen tilted his head sympathetically, bushing a stiff lock of Jared’s hair off his forehead. 

“When we get back,” and Jensen pretended not to see how Jared deflated at those words, “Richings will see to them and you will be all right,” he promised. “But everything will hurt them now, Jared. The little wind that still blows, blinking, even the daylight…” he trailed off. With a heavy heart, he knew what had to be done. “We have to bind them up, so they aren’t damaged more.” 

Jared raised his teary face up and Jensen’s heart ached for him. “Go ahead then,” he grated out, “and be done with it. Bring me back.” 

Unable to meet the lad’s accusing gaze, Jensen unsheathed his janbiya and efficiently cut away a strip of cloth from his kufiya wide enough to double over and still completely cover Jared’s wounded eyes. Holding the makeshift blindfold out like an offering, Jensen asked, “May I?” 

“Since when do I ever have a choice?” Jared snapped, his voice still low and raw. 

Jensen clamped his lips together, uncertain what might tumble out of his mouth if he didn’t. Though the storm outside had mostly abated, the one within his head and heart had only grown worse. There were so many questions swirling about, he didn’t know where to start. He tugged Jared forward and carefully wrapped the cloth about his eyes before knotting it behind him. All the while, he was acutely aware of the way the boy trembled under his hand and that twisted something deep in his gut. When he was finished, he gingerly smoothed the material over his covered eyes and asked, “Is that too tight?” in a husky voice. 

Jared was silent, but shook his head from side to side. 

“Good. I think it is safe for us to go back now,” Jensen explained, after taking another gander outside. The storm was mostly past and the sun was a hazy, bloated thing peeking up over the horizon. They would have no trouble returning to the palace. He clucked once sharply and Aroob bleated noisily, but wiggled her head out of the cavern and stood without difficulty. Jensen hastily donned his torn kufiya and bound the igal around it, before slinging the water skin across his shoulder. 

“It’s time to go, Jared,” he ordered softly and then placed his hands over Jared’s shaking ones. “Come. I’ll lead you out.” Again, Jared remained silent, but bobbed his head once. 

Crawling backward, Jensen explained every step and motion Jared needed to make until they cleared the cave completely. Once outside, he tugged Jared to his feet, mindful of their injuries. “Stay here and I’ll bring Aroob to you,” Jensen told him. 

The camel had wandered a few feet away, curiously nosing around in the sand. Glancing about briefly, Jensen noted that Al-Dabaran had passed completely, leaving few traces in its wake except more sand. Other than a murky sunrise, it was as if nothing had happened. Shaking himself from his reverie, Jensen clicked and Aroob ambled over, clearly in no rush this morning. Jensen tapped her side and she lowered herself grudgingly. Returning to Jared, he guided the boy over, kicking aside stones and rocks that might further damage his bare feet, until he was alongside the camel. 

The blinded lad trailed his fingers along her hide, before asking scratchily, “What’s her name?” 

“Aroob,” Jensen answered. 

“What does it mean?” Jared wondered even as Jensen placed his hands on the saddle pommel and helped him swing his leg over. 

“’Loving to her husband’,” he translated ruefully. He was about to tell Jared how to lock his legs in place, but he silently marveled at the ease with which the boy did just that. 

 _He had apparently been driving a camel before he’d been…taken,_ Jensen thought to himself, mentally stumbling over the last word. 

“And is she?” 

“We are hopeful she will be, if she ever finds one,” Jensen chuckled and he was left breathless when Jared joined in a few moments later. It didn’t last long, and wasn’t enough to bring out the boy’s beautiful dimples, but Jensen hadn't realized how much he missed Jared’s joyful laugh until that instant. He mounted up behind him and frowned when the lad stiffened at his touch. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into the curve of Jared’s ear as he wrapped his arms about the lad’s narrow waist, nudging Aroob up with his knees. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was apologizing for; he only knew he meant it wholeheartedly. 

Aroob hadn't gone but a few feet when Jensen noticed Jared wavering in his seat. “Lean back against me, Jared. It will help with the nausea,” and he tugged on the boy’s stomach. With obvious reluctance, Jared did as he was asked and in short order, Jensen felt him relax into the hold. 

Squinting into the distance, Jensen estimated they had a few miles to go and, at the pace he kept his camel at, it would give them time before the reality of their situation would return. With Jared’s head resting near the crook of his neck, Jensen couldn’t help but brush his cheek against the younger man's brow before placing the lightest of kisses there. Once again, the boy was helpless in his arms and there was a part of Jensen that thrilled in the knowledge. 

“We’ve a little ways yet, Jared,” he murmured softly against the boy’s ear, “and I plan on making good use of that time.” Jared trembled then, but Jensen merely held him tighter. “I have questions, Jared, and you are going to answer every one of them.”


	22. Chapter 22

For a minute, Jared said nothing, merely shook intermittently. With one arm still slung about the boy’s waist, Jensen used the other to slowly rub up and down his right arm. Eventually, the repetitive motion appeared to calm the younger man. His breathing grew stronger and the palsy ebbed away. Jensen pressed a smile against his wrecked hair.

“No,” Jared rasped harshly.

“What?” Jensen asked, momentarily shocked. Then the rough manner of Jared’s speech sunk in. It must have hurt him terribly to speak so. “Don’t worry, Jared. You can give me the simplest answers for the moment. When you are feeling better, we will then speak at length.”

Jared, however, flung his head from side to side. “No, I won’t answer you. Not now and not later.”

“Jared,” came Jensen’s warning and Jared’s trembling returned. But so had his resolve.

“Or what, Jensen?” Even with a ravaged throat, he managed to emphasize Jensen’s given name, which he had been forbidden to use. “What more can you do to me? Will you give me away if I refuse? Let someone else use me?”

Jensen swallowed with some difficulty. He _could_ lie again; there was no way Jared would know the threat would be an empty one and it might yet give him the upper hand, which he desired to maintain. However, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt Jared like that ever again.

“No,” he admitted slowly, the words bitter in his mouth, “I would not do that.”

Twisting about against Jensen’s broad chest, Jared tilted his head back as though he could still see Jensen through his blindfold as he continued on. “Or would you cut me, mutilate me until I’m no longer even a man?” His words were harsh and they stung.

Jensen squeezed the lad by his shoulders fervently. “I will never do that to you. Never.” It was Jensen’s turn to shudder, only it was anger fueling his uneasiness and not fear. He would not see anyone mutilated like that, least of all Jared.

Jared turned around and faced forward, sitting up. “Then I choose, Jensen. And I choose not to answer you. When I wanted to speak with you before…when I _begged_ on my knees to talk to you, you sent me away. When I tried to say something that…night, you promised to gag me. I have nothing to say now.”

Jensen wanted to rail against the boy’s decision – to force him, if needs must, to tell him what he had to know, but that was a road he was unwilling to travel down. He’d done enough. In point of fact, he’d done so much to him without meaning to that Jared had chosen to face the wrath of a horrendous storm rather than remain in Jensen’s domain. The memory of Jared’s escape was fresh and raw and immediate, but it was also so tangled up in bone-deep, aching loss that Jensen had a hard time differentiating between the feelings they evoked. Jared had come within a hair’s breadth of sharing his mother’s fate and it was Jensen who could barely catch his breath. Her death was like the bite of that horned viper. It bled and bled and refused to heal. His arms cinched tighter around Jared and he pressed his forehead to the back of the lad’s head. It finally sunk in that the immediate threat had passed and Jared was relatively unscathed. But it could have been much, much worse. It could have been the end of everything.

“Why?” he croaked, unable to stop himself. “Why would you have risked yourself in such a fashion, Jared? I could have lost you.” Unbidden, a tear slipped free and cleared a path down his dusty cheek before landing on the back of Jared’s neck. The boy flinched like acid had burned the spot, growing rigid for a few seconds before he melted completely against Jensen’s chest.

They rocked together as Aroob’s gentle sway carried them across the golden sea, but neither said a word. Jensen struggled to gain control of himself before he came undone, clearing his throat harshly. He was resigned to the silence, so strange and almost unnatural after the maelstrom’s screams, when Jared spoke up softly.

“I didn’t know it,” he admitted, voice cracking at the end.

Unsure if it would break the spell, Jensen was hesitant to respond. When Jared remained quiet, he took a gamble.

“You didn’t know what?” he asked almost timidly.

Jared sighed. It sounded like the wheeze of a consumption victim. “I didn't know it would be so fierce.”

Tempering his utter shock at Jared’s foolish admission with patience, Jensen carefully replied, “How could you not think that beast was dangerous? The size alone should have given you an inkling of its destructive power.”

“I only saw the servants rushing about, trying to protect the property from damage. With my bundle of sheets, I looked no different and no one paid me any mind,” he started to explain, before a coughing fit had him nearly bent over the pommel as he tried to catch his breath.

Keeping one hand firmly hooked about the lad’s middle, Jensen shrugged the water skin from his shoulder and yanked the stopper free with his teeth. It dangled from its tether while Jensen urged Jared upright. “Here now,” he said, pressing the fist he had clenched around the skin against the boy’s chest, pushing him back against him. When Jared was resting there, head angled back, Jensen moved his hand to Jared’s mouth and brought the water to his lips. “Take a few sips,” he instructed as he tipped the water skin up, allowing a small amount of liquid past his weathered lips. “Good boy,” he praised him, when Jared swallowed more than he dribbled. “Good boy,” he said again as he replaced the stopper and slung the skin back across his shoulder. So close to the palace, Jensen would wait to drink his fill and use what water they had with them solely for Jared’s needs.

A single drop, like a tear, glistened on the Englishman’s pale, lower lip and Jensen couldn’t resist. He dragged his toughened thumb along the plump flesh, smearing the moisture across it like dew on a rose petal, and Jared caught the digit briefly with his mouth before letting go. Jensen told himself it was because Jared couldn’t see. He had probably mistaken the touch for the water skin’s spout, but Jensen still reveled in the inadvertently erotic moment. Suddenly, he was thirsty for something more than water.

“I didn’t know,” Jared grated.

Jensen nodded. It was a foolish gesture since Jared couldn’t actually see him, but he was once again caught up in the feeling that Jared always saw him. Of course the touch had been accidental.

“I didn’t know how big the storm was,” the lad continued.

At that moment, Aroob stumbled in her footing and that jolted Jensen from his slight daydream. “How could you not know? It was as large as life and twice as natural.” And he found it too challenging to hide the perturbed quality in his voice. Jared was not addle-brained, for goodness’ sake.

Apparently, both of them had forgotten the lad's oath not to answer questions. He retorted angrily, “I didn’t actually see it until I was on the roof and you had called out to me. It was a little too late at that point for me to adjust my plans.” And he snapped his mouth shut.

Jensen was baffled. What Jared said made no sense. Like a dog unable to let go of a juicy bone, he asked again, “But how could you have not seen it?”

Perhaps something of his confusion had bled through to his voice, for Jared cocked his head like an exotic bird and answered Jensen’s question with one of his own. “How can you not know?”

“Know what?” Jensen responded.

For a few seconds, Jared’s mouth opened wider, but no sound escaped his battered lips. Just as Jensen was about to repeat himself, Jared lowered his head and shook it. “There are no windows that face outward within the harem. All we have are the patches of sky above the courtyards.”

Jared’s revelation left the other man gobsmacked. He jerked his head back and then turned away, deeply unsettled. He studied the landscape around him as Aroob slowly ferried them home. The desert was as vast as an ocean and, as Al-Dabaran had so viscerally reminded him, ever changing. The burnished golds blended with deeper ocher this early in the morn, the clearing sky already a pale shade of aquamarine. There might not be much, to the untrained eye, to see, but it was there if one looked. To hear that the concubines were denied even that basic right seemed monstrous. _Jared couldn’t be correct_ , he told himself.

He ransacked his own memories of growing up in his mother’s apartments. There had been plenty of windows, but it was like Jared had said. They all faced in towards other rooms or courtyards. How could he have not remembered? And then it came to him. He and his mother were allowed to come and go nearly as they pleased. Jensen never missed the out of doors because he had never been denied it. He raised his free hand to his mouth and trailed it down his unkempt beard, brittle with dirt. The concubines within the seraglio proper were never allowed to see outside. It was unthinkable.

He squeezed Jared about the shoulders. “I didn’t know,” he whispered and the boy shrugged in his hold, unwilling to say more. And, to be honest, Jensen wasn’t so sure he was ready to hear more quite yet.

The rest of the short journey passed in reflective quiet. Jared didn’t offer up anything else and Jensen couldn’t bring himself to demand another thing from him. He simply held onto him before their return would force him to once again assume the mantle of leader. And even as a part of him dreaded that very fact, a larger part insisted that it was time to face some unpleasantries he had been studiously avoiding like a child hiding under his bedclothes. What kind of a leader, moreover, what kind of a _person_ would he be if he turned a blind eye any longer?

Jared slowly lifted one of his hands toward his eyes, but Jensen caught it up and gently forced it back down. “Leave them be, Jared,” he softly ordered the temporarily blinded boy. He kept his hand over Jared’s and brushed slow circles there with his thumb, while he tugged Jared’s body impossibly closer with his other. He wasn’t sure if he was elated or saddened when Jared didn’t resist, but rested fully where he was positioned.

 _You wanted him at your mercy_ , that internal voiced teased. _You’ve won_.

Victory was meant to be sweetly savored, he had always believed, but Jensen had nothing but the arid bite of grit and sand in his mouth. It tasted barren.

Before either man was ready for it, the palace came into view. Jared must have picked up on the subtle tensing and shifting of Jensen’s muscles as he soon followed suit. Even as he continued to stroke the boy’s arm, Jensen cast a critical eye over what he could see of the structures. Nothing appeared amiss from this side, save for the scurrying of figures by the gate. Apparently, they had been spotted and Jensen suspected that word would travel quickly throughout that he had returned. He refused to name the low-level of dread that returning had conjured up.

Jensen drove Aroob deftly through the now-opened gates, nodding to the guards who cheered and waved their arms in the air. Jared was rigid in his grasp, his breathing stilted and unsteady. “Shh,” he sighed into his ear, unable to offer any other reassurances.

As he steered his camel into the stables, he was met with a memorable sight. His second – Nasih – stood near some of the horses, towering over Jake. The two were in a heated discussion and it was clear that Nasih was using his height as a means to intimidate the young man, the way he lorded over him and swung his arms about dramatically. And it was just as obvious his tactics were having no influence on Jensen’s half-brother. Jake gave as good as he got, although his gestures were less theatric, they were more effective. Jensen was unsure how long the two might have carried about had Jake not noticed him a minute later.

“Jensen,” he nearly shrieked. Once more, Jensen was grateful it took much to startle a camel, because that scream even had him flinching. Jared, however, was a statue.

“You-you came back,” Jake gasped in English, rushing up alongside the camel while Nasih flanked the other side of Aroob.

Jensen shot him a cocky grin. “I told you I would be back. I always keep my promises.” Jensen wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he thought Jared trembled then. “Always,” he repeated, lower and mostly for Jared in that instant.

Realizing there was no way the men would let him pass, he clicked his tongue briefly and Aroob obliged him. Making a great show of it, she shuffled and adjusted herself before finally tucking up her legs and lowering herself to the stable floor. Even as Jensen began to help Jared dismount, another group bustled into the stables. Groaning inwardly, Jensen saw that Alaina led the small, welcoming committee. Trailing in her agitated wake was Assaf, Worthy, Wisdom and a few other guards. For a brief moment, Jensen was envious of Jared’s inability to see the madding crowd that was rapidly gathering, but only for a moment. Jared heard their approach and his trembling grew. Keeping one arm slung about his boy’s shoulders, Jensen barely spread his other arm wide in time to catch Jake as his sibling practically launched himself at him.

Jake buried his head against Jensen’s scratchy, bearded throat. “I was so worried,” came his muffled voice. Jensen hugged him closer in his one-armed embrace.

“So was I,” Jensen admitted. When Jake pulled back, Jensen caught the shine of unshed tears in the boy’s blue eyes. But his sibling’s expression was firm and he held his emotions in check. _What a fine man he’s growing into_ , Jensen marveled to himself.

Peering hesitantly at Jared, Jake then asked, “Are you all right?”

Jared turned his head stiffly in the direction of Jake’s voice, but remained silent. He barely jerked his head once.

“We should take you to Richings,” Jake continued and Jensen was so touched that his brother spoke directly to Jared instead of about or over him. “He’s the best doctor in the country and he will take good care of you.” He then looked at Jensen for confirmation, suddenly shy that he had perhaps overstepped.

“I was telling Jared the same thing before we arrived,” Jensen smiled, squeezing Jake’s shoulder encouragingly. “The storm dried and scratched his eyes, but I don’t think it’s too serious. I simply didn’t want to risk them further,” he said, jutting his chin towards the blindfold, the fingers of his left hand tripping up and down Jared’s left arm.

Jake was nodding along as Alaina arrived in a cloud of silk, jasmine and oudh. Relief and vexation alternately reshaped her expression as she regarded Jensen and, to a lesser extent, Jared. Behind her, Assaf stood, casting worried glances back and forth between the returned men. Jensen gave him a crooked grin, hoping that it would be enough for the man he would only ever see as his childhood friend. He was never able to reconcile that Assaf was a servant, having grown up with him, and so he had kept his distance as an adult. Assaf dipped his head in acknowledgement, his stance slightly relaxed.

Alaina took a measured breath, but before she was able to utter a single word, Jake cut her off. “Worthy, would you and Wisdom please escort Jared to Richings immediately? His eyes have been damaged by Al-Dabaran and he may have other injuries as well. I believe he was in the harem hospital this morning.” He never once switched back to Arabic as he discussed Jared and his situation and Jensen knew that fact was not lost on anyone present.

The two guards looked to Alaina after Jake’s order and Jensen’s jaw clenched. How dare they hesitate before his brother, he seethed. But the First Kadin merely inclined her head and the two stepped forward to collect the Englishman. With a certain reluctance, Jensen released his hold on Jared. There wasn't much he could do before the others, but he did turn his head briefly and murmur, “All will be as it should be,” before the eunuchs each clasped him by an arm and began to tug him away.

Again, he ground his teeth together, but there wasn’t much he could say.

“Please be careful and keep your steps slow and even,” Jake called out, voice full of authority, “as I am certain it is all very confusing for Jared.” Jake leaned closer to Jensen and whispered up, “You owe me one, big brother. But you are on your own with Mother.” Jensen barely resisted the urge to kiss his little brother for what he had done, saving face for Jensen, who couldn't show such care over a mere concubine. But a younger sibling of some authority might be forgiven for his soft heartedness, especially by his doting mother.

“Fair enough,” he answered. Glancing at the woman in question, he noted she and Assaf were in a discreet, but agitated, discussion. It didn't surprise him that Alaina was in knots over what had transpired, but Assaf seemed equally as disturbed, waving his hands and gesticulating rapidly, shaking his head from side to side in disagreement. He watched as Alaina sucked in her upper lip, marring her impeccable makeup, before nodding. She bent her face close to Assaf’s, saying something that Jensen wasn't able to make out, before Assaf bowed and dashed off, presumably to see after Jared.

“Come on,” Jake said, yanking on Jensen’s arm. “Time to face the Pied Piper of Hamelin.” Jensen thought his brother was only half-jesting. In her red robes, the First Kadin was an intimidating figure and her anger was palpable. Turning to Nasih, who had begun to lead the camel away, Jensen said in Arabic, “I will be back to see to Aroob. She deserves some additional attention lavished on her for this.” His second opened his mouth as if to disagree, seemed to think better of it and snapped it shut, nodding as he pulled on the reins. Aroob, unperturbed as ever, broke wind as she stood up and ambled off towards her stall. Jensen couldn't help himself; with his hand curled protectively about his mouth and nose, he started to laugh. Jake’s sniggers joined his soon enough as they walked over to Alaina, who seemed unwilling to approach.

“As always, Sheikh, you are definitely one for a grand entrance,” the redhead said archly. Upon closer inspection, Jensen noticed that her makeup was thicker this morning, especially under her eyes and he suspected she had hidden signs of a restless night with her cosmetics. He was torn in his desire to mock her over it and surprisingly touched by the concern it evidenced. In the end, he settled for a sort of middle ground.

“I knew you must have been missing me, so I wanted to make sure you knew I had returned once again your conquering hero,” and he bowed deeply before her.

Jake’s smile grew wider and he opened his mouth, prepared to join in, when Alaina raised a single, slim finger at him. Jake pressed his lips together and shuffled his feet, looking appropriately chagrined. It was rare moments like these when Jensen couldn't help but like Alaina, when she was so clearly a mother to Jake. The moments usually didn't last long and this one was no exception.

“I expect you,” she said imperiously to Jensen as she fingered his cut kufiya, “to join us for a late breakfast in an hour. That will give you time to bathe.” Raking his body over with a haughty sneer, she added, “It looks like you brought back half of Al-Ramlah with you, along with your little runaway, of course. And you,” she warned Jake, “will rest up until then, when you can pepper your brother with questions of his daring exploits to your heart’s content.”

Jensen wanted to disagree. He wanted to check on Jared personally, but one look at Jake’s tired continence and he relented. Richings was a thorough physician and he would take excellent care of Jared. And although the notion pained him, perhaps the boy would be more comfortable if he was alone with the Doctor, where he would feel more free to discuss any ailments or aches without Jensen nearby. He decided that a bath and a meal wouldn't be amiss, and he could check in on Jared after the young man had been fed and settled as well.

“A nap?” Jake squawked. “You’re sending me to bed?”

“I was not the one waiting up all night for Jensen’s return,” she retorted, snapping her gaze once in Jensen’s direction. “Jacob, I have no desire to nurse you through some illness brought on by exhaustion. As you can see, your brother has returned in one piece, so off you go.”

Jensen nudged Jake in the shoulder and nodded. “We will catch up soon enough. Now hurry before she embarrasses you further by tucking you in herself,” he teased.

Jake bobbed his head at Jensen and practically dragged his feet as he marched past his mother. “Pretty certain I wasn't the only one losing sleep over him,” he grumbled softly, just loud enough for the other two to hear.

When Jake was safely out of earshot, Alaina’s demeanor morphed into something entirely different. She seemed to shrink down into something less grand than the lady she was. “How could you, Jensen? You could have died and for what? To retrieve a slave?” There was no malice in her voice, only defeated resignation.

Standing tall, Jensen told her, “I would do it for anyone, regardless of their station.” He met her sea-green eyes without reservation.

“Perhaps,” she agreed softly, “but not with such reckless abandon as you did for him. It was like your father all over again,” she added, turning back the way she had come. “Please don’t be late for breakfast, Sheikh.”

Jensen was shocked. How was he like his father?

He dashed after her, spinning her around in a whirl of silks. “What do you mean about my father?” he demanded, his hand clamped like a manacle about her arm. She winced but made no complaints.

“Please,” she said for a second time that day, “not here in the stables.” Her eyes darted about, checking for servants who might have lingered at the periphery of the stalls, wanting only to verify with their own eyes their sheikh’s safe return.

“Fine,” Jensen agreed. “But,” and he tightened his grip minutely, “we _will_ speak of him…and other matters, Alaina. Make no mistake about that,” he warned her as he let go. “I will see you in one hour.”

She furrowed her brows, massaging her arm, but said nothing as she finally departed.

Jensen stood still, collecting his thoughts. Suddenly, a bath with its few minutes of peace was very appealing. But he would still honor his promise to Aroob and set her to rights first. He shrugged off his burgeoning fatigue and sought out his camel’s stall. Nasih was still with her. He had already put away her tack and had started to brush out her dusty coat. She eyed Jensen and he would swear she cracked a smile when he took up another comb and moved to her left side. Nasih barely acknowledged him and he knew his second well enough to suspect the man was seething. He let out his breath in a great gust and rested his head against Aroob’s side.

“You might as well say what’s on your mind,” he told Nasih in Arabic. “You know I won’t hold it against you when it is just us.”

For a while, the only noise was the harsh rasp of brushes on dirty camel hair. Eventually, Nasih stopped currying. “You were reckless and stupid,” he said, blunt and to the point as was his way.

“I was rash,” Jensen conceded.

“You never should have gone out like that,” the other man grumbled. “You have an obligation to your people.”

“And I was doing right by one of them,” he countered.

“One is not equal to all. You could have died and for what? A slave who can be replaced,” Nasih snapped, throwing his brush away. It struck the wall with a hollow thud.

“I never had any doubt in the outcome. Maybe you have too little faith in me.” Jensen was beginning to regret his decision to let his second voice his concerns when they were both tired and quick to temper. “In the end, for good or ill, it is my decision.”

“Too bold for your own good, just like your father. If I could have, I would have stopped you as I once stopped him,” Nasih said as he leaned over Aroob’s neck to speak directly to Jensen.

Despite the growing heat of the day, a chill rushed up Jensen’s back. “What did you say?” he wondered in a low and deadly tone.

Nasih blanched before adjusting his stance. “You did not know?”

Circling around Aroob, who was losing interest in them both since the brushing had stopped, Jensen cornered the taller man in the back of the stall. “Tell me,” he hissed. “Tell me everything.”

“I thought you knew,” he continued, not explaining himself. “I would have thought your father would have said something over the years.”

Tired of being left out of momentous conversations, Jensen advanced on him and seized him by his thobe. “Start explaining yourself,” he demanded.

Nasih regarded him with a mixture of sorrow and dawning awareness. Swallowing, he began, “The day the storm came that stole away your mother, your father made to ride out after her. But the man who was his second then knew it would be certain death, so he gathered a few of us and we held him back until it was impossible to leave.”

Jensen loosened his grip and stared, unseeing, at the man’s sternum. “He tried to go after her?” The question was no more than a whisper of air.

“He fought like a man possessed by a hundred djinn. It took six of us to hold him back,” Nasih confessed.

“I never knew. I thought he didn't care enough and he let me.” Jensen swung around, a sudden explosion of movement, and hit the stall divider. Aroob lifted an eyebrow and then resumed chewing her cud. “He let me think that!” Shaking his hand out absently, Jensen examined his bloody knuckles.

“He was a proud man,” Nasih said. “Perhaps that kept him silent. He was ashamed to admit we had stopped him.”

That reached Jensen. He glared at the other man. “And look what that got him, eh? A son who lost both his mother and father that day.” Jensen began to pace inside the stall. “I may have only been a child, but he changed for me that day. He became less in my young eyes and I never looked at him the same way again. No sense of pride was worth the loss our relationship.” Jensen turned about and was close enough to the taller man for them to share air. It spoke volumes about his bravery that Jensen’s second did not back down.

“Give me the name of my father’s second then,” he demanded, wanting someone to feel his wrath, regardless of the eighteen years that had passed.

“It doesn't matter, Sheikh, because that man is dead. Your father killed him for his impertinence the very next day,” he replied. “And even knowing that you might have done the same thing to me, I would still have tried to stop you if I could have,” he added. “You, like your father, are more than just the needs and desires of one man. You are more than all of us and we depend on you. As much as you own us, you owe us everything. That is what it means to be sheikh.”

Both men stared at each other, trapped at an impasse. Finally, Jensen relented. “You are excused. Get out of my sight and stay away. I don't think I can bear to look at you for a while,” he sighed, more exhausted than ever.

“Will you replace me?”

Jensen slumped against the stall wall. Nasih had risen to the rank of second under his father, so his sire had been able to eventually forgive him. Jensen suspected he would, too. But not yet. Not this soon after. “No, you’ve done nothing to deserve that. Just go.”

Nasih bowed, touching his mouth and then forehead, before leaving the stables.

Somehow Jensen managed to return to his rooms, although he had been so lost in thought, he’d barely acknowledged those slaves who greeted him in the hallways. They bustled about him, already busy sweeping up the fine sand that couldn't be stopped and repairing what minor damage the Follower had wrought.

Unsurprisingly, his chambers were already mostly cleaned and someone had removed the rug coverings over his bath, leaving him only to disrobe and sink into the steaming waters, which he did gratefully after sluicing off as much grit as he could beforehand at the wall taps. Even the soothing scents of the bath did little to calm his raging thoughts. All that time lost between him and his father all because his father was too prideful to admit six men had held him back. Too arrogant to tell his son he had tried, because he saw it as a failure and a betrayal. But, as he soaked in the warm waters and some of his muscles loosened, he tried, for the first time to view that day from his father’s eyes. He had had to tell his sole child that not only had his mother died, but he hadn't been enough to save her. That his duty had kept him from her, a duty that Jensen was destined to inherit. It was true that Jensen’s boyhood illusions and his hero worship had died when his father had seemingly coldly informed Jensen of her death, but, in the end, his father had only ever been a man – flawed, imperfect and human. Perhaps he had needed someone else to forgive him so he could have forgiven himself.

Although part of him dreaded any more revelations, Jensen couldn’t delay the inevitable. He dragged himself from the bath and dressed in the cleanly laundered clothes that were waiting for him on the divan in his bedchamber. He did so hastily, since he had made up his mind to take off his blinders, and used the secret corridor to arrive at the First Kadin’s apartments in short order. Hearing the clink of dinnerware, he entered the receiving room unannounced, to find Alaina serving Jake a rather ridiculously full plate of breakfast foods. He snorted at the sight.

“Don't start, Jensen,” she sighed. “Thanks to you, he barely touched his food yesterday and needs to make up for it today.”

“Not all in one meal, Mother,” Jake teased, but quickly stuffed some lamb into his mouth.

Jensen smiled, despite his weary soul, and allowed Alaina to serve him in addition to her son. She knew as well as he did that as long as Jake was in the room, neither of them would say anything too upsetting to the other. Which is why Jensen was amazed when Alaina began the conversation in the manner with which she did.

“I am sorry for the way I spoke earlier,” she said softly. Both Jake and he paused in their eating, stunned by her apology. “Jacob was right in that he wasn’t the only one worried for your safety. I had heard what you’d done and I couldn’t help but to compare you to your father. You see,” she paused to catch her breath, “the day your mother rode out –”

“I know what happened now,” he interrupted her. “What I want to know is how you knew about it when I didn't.”

Smoothing out wrinkles that didn't exist on the table linens, she lowered her head. “Jensen, there are things that are only shared between spouses. You may not have approved of your father taking me as a wife,” and she raised her head, “but that is what I was. I knew I was a pale substitute for your mother, but when I gave him Jacob,” and she paused to clasp the boy’s forearm and smile sweetly, “I know he then held me with some affection and esteem and there were confidence we shared that I still honor today although he’s gone.”

There were many things spinning about in Jensen’s mind, but he held his tongue for Jake’s sake. Again, surprisingly, Alaina called for a servant and asked them to take Jake’s food to his rooms. “I know I promised you that you could bombard your brother with questions,” she informed the boy when he gaped at her in surprise at the change of venue, “but I think he has some for me that are best discussed in private. Why don’t you finish your meal in your room and let your brother and I speak?”

Dabbing his mouth his with his linen, Jake agreed. As he stood up to leave, he added, “Oh, Mother? I think you’re right and I may need to rest again after I’ve finished.”

“I don’t think so, Jacob. As I recall, you have a history lesson today,” she warned him.

“Mother, I'm so tired I would probably doze off and miss huge swaths of the 9th century,” he wheedled.

“You decided to stay awake all night and now you have to pay for it. As I have told you time and time again, actions have consequences for everyone, Jacob.” And she waved him off with her hand. His mutterings could be heard echoing off the marble tiles as he headed toward his own chambers nearby.

She poured herself a glass of raki as soon as Jacob was out of sight and leaned back against her cushions. “Better?”

Jensen took a glass for himself as well. He sipped it carefully. “I…appreciate what you did and I will let the matter of my father lie for now.”

She quirked an eyebrow at that. “If not about your father, what would you have me say?”

He licked his lips slowly. “I have questions about the harem and how those within its walls live.”

Alaina narrowed her gaze and she squared her shoulders. “What could you possibly need to know, Jensen, beyond when one of them is to service you?”

He suspected the kid gloves, as it were, would come off not long after Jake’s departure and he was right. While it was accurate, her statement was still a low blow. Jensen girded himself. “You may try to scout me for that, but I will still have my answers.”

Setting her glass down with a brittle clack, Alaina stared defiantly. “So you've finally decided to pull your head from the sand and stop being a frightened ostrich? And what brought on this sudden need for enlightenment? Or,” and she paused, eyeing him suspiciously, “is it more accurate to ask who brought it on?”

Deciding he was unwilling to dance around with her, Jensen came out and demanded, “Why is Jared wearing a locked chastity cage?”

Alaina’s eyes grew large. “And what were you two getting up to while we were all so worried about you? Do I need to have the _haznedar_ make another notation in his ledger?”

It was Jensen’s turn to slam his drink down. “Enough, woman! Stop your prevarications and answer me.”

Alaina’s shoulders quivered and she gave him a sultry smile. “Why, Jensen, how forceful you can be. It is really quite exciting.”

“Alaina,” his voice had dropped to a low growl, feral and dangerous, “answer me.”

The First Kadin stood abruptly and walked over to her terraces, loitering beside the fountain. Without turning around, she began to speak in a more subdued fashion. “Is it really such a surprise, Jensen? You truly can’t fathom the necessity for them?”

“Necessity?” he practically choked out the word, tossing his linen square onto the table and stood to join Alaina by the terrace. “How can binding someone like that be a necessity?”

Alaina moved away from him over to her brown falcon’s block. She coaxed the hooded bird onto her forearm and delicately stroked along the creature’s neck and back. “In some form or fashion, we are all prisoners here. It is merely the chains that vary.”

“How very philosophical of you,” he snapped. “Do all the concubines wear them?”

Huffing, she cocked her head in his direction. “Yes, we all wear them.”

“Whatever for?”

Alaina regarded him like he was a foolish child. “Think for a moment, would you? You have dozens and dozens of men and women living together in relatively close quarters. You don’t think that some might engage in carnal activities over time? Or that one might try to get another with child and pass it off as yours? The devices guarantee that any child born is yours and yours alone. And it keeps the concubines safe.”

“Safe?” Jensen croaked. “But they are locked up. That’s no way to live.”

Alaina shook her head and snorted. Pulling off the falcon’s hood, she tossed it aside and cooed to the animal as it blinked in the sunlight. “Better than the alternative. You father could have had the men castrated, but thought this kinder. And as for safety,” she swung her head back to him, “what do you think happens to concubines who are caught sleeping with anyone other than you?”

When Jensen remained silent, Alaina continued, “They are put to death on the spot.” She then swung her arm forward and the falcon took flight, diving with startling speed and grace into the vegetation below. When he returned to her arm a scant minute later, a mouse dangled limply from its beak, squealing pitifully. She lowered him down to his block and the bird hopped back into place, happily tearing the small rodent to pieces.

“That’s too cruel,” Jensen replied.

The First Kadin looked directly into his eyes. “Order must be kept within the garden.” Jensen didn’t know which garden she was referring to, but he repressed an urge to shudder at her cold words. Something nagged at him, though.

“I understand there are no outwardly facing windows. Is that for the concubines’ safety as well? No matter,” he barreled on, not waiting for her to answer, “as I plan to change that.”

Alaina rounded on him, her ire barely in check. “Sheikh, while I appreciate the concern and genuine inquisitiveness you are currently displaying since I assume it means you are ready to take on the full mantel of your responsibilities and embrace me as your First Kadin, let me remind you of one thing. You,” she poked him with a sharp nail to his chest, “control everything outside the seraglio, while I am in charge of everything within. If you think to upset that status in any way, then you and I need to talk about a regime change.”

Unwilling to back down, Jensen retorted, “And how would adding a few windows be the end of the world?”

“Because it would lead others to temptation, either to beguile some into entering the harem to taste the forbidden fruit or for those within to try and flee,” she hissed back.

Jensen’s body receded from hers, comprehension slowly blooming. “And there are punishments for escaping, aren’t there?”

Alaina lifted a shoulder nonchalantly as she replaced the hood over her falcon, blinding him once more. “Actions have consequences and lessons must be learned.”

Jensen stepped over and seized her by her slim arm. “Not him,” he practically spat in her face. “You won’t touch him.”

The look she graced Jensen with was unreadable. “It is too late now,” she said.

Jensen shook her roughly, “Where?”

“The Courtyard of the Concubines, so everyone could see,” she replied.

Jensen shoved her away and tore out of her rooms, practically flying down the stairs past her bloated, overripe garden. He tried to calculate how long he’d been apart from Jared, how long he might have been with Richings before being carted away to face punishment for his escape. And Jensen had been ignorant the whole time, bathing and eating, while Jared had been…

Although he hadn’t visited there since a child, he found the Courtyard of the Concubines easily enough. Throwing aside the heavy drapes, he entered the square initially unseen. The large crowd of concubines formed a huge circle, pressing almost eagerly, he noted with some disdain, against one another and jockeying for better viewing positions. Regardless of whatever protocol there was for a visit, Jensen didn’t care. He shoved and jostled them aside with no regard until he was at the forefront. His stomach revolted at the spectacle before him.

Jared lay on the ground, still blindfolded, with his hands bound in front of him. Assaf kneeled behind his head and held Jared’s shoulders down. The boy's legs were bent at the waist because his feet were tied to a plank that two guards held waist high. And, on either end of the plank, Worthy and Wisdom stood, trading off blows like they were playing tennis. Only, instead of rackets, each man held a thin, wiry cane and each blow they struck was against the underside of Jared’s tender feet.

“Tis'ata `ashar,” Wisdom counted out and Jared squirmed. Assaf pressed down harder on the lad's shoulders.

“Ishrūn,” Worthy replied.

Twenty.

They’d beaten him twenty times already on feet Jensen knew must have ached after the storm. And _falaka_ , while painful, was also meant to humiliate when administered by canes. Jared wouldn’t be walking, let alone running away, on those limbs anytime soon. He would have to crawl.

Even as Wisdom drew back his hand, Jensen was a blur of motion. He burst from the crowd and yanked the offensive weapon out of the eunuch’s fist, tossing it aside with unbridled fury.

“Qif!” he bellowed at Worthy and the Kızlar Ağası lowered his cane immediately. Assaf began to rapidly whisper something into Jared’s ear and Jensen hoped it was comforting. Standing there, indignant and chest heaving, he spared a glance for the others. Men and women who had both been in the company of his father and him stood in rapt fascination at the unfolding scene. Some were sad (the dark haired Genevieve stood with hunched shoulders as though to protect herself from the blows), while others were nothing but blank slates like the older, blonde woman who had barely risen from her couch to observe the proceedings. But what was most disturbing were the hungry looks a few wore, their faces alight with glee.

Turning in a slow circle, Jensen took in his harem and was sickened by what he saw, by what was his and his alone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Arabian ostrich were hunted to extinction in 1966.


	23. Chapter 23

_ _

 

“You hear that?” Assaf murmured in Jared’s ear. “I told you the Sheikh was here.”

Jared may have made some kind of acknowledgement. He couldn't be sure, however. Without his sight, his world had shrunk down to a very small and dark place. The only thing he was certain of was each lash against the underside of his feet. When whatever it was that the guards used to beat him struck his foot, it painted a line of fire along his skin. And he didn't know how it could be, since each hit felt like it was doled out with the same strength and they never struck the same place on the underside of his arch twice, but the pain continued to grow and grow until he thought he was going to lose his sanity. He had tried to keep up with the count, part of his mind focusing on how the numbers sounded in Arabic like he could pretend this was a language lesson, but after what he thought was “eleven”, he’d lost track of it all. The throbbing kept time with his heartbeat and he had no idea how long it was supposed to go on. That may have been the worst of it – the not knowing.

The next thing he’d been aware of was someone who sounded a great deal like Jensen bellowing at the top of his lungs, in Arabic, to stop. Even though the lashings had blessedly come to an immediate end, the pain continued to radiate outward, growing in intensity. He had no idea how he was supposed to walk, although that may have been the point. Crawling might be his only option for a while. He ruefully appreciated the appropriateness and poetic justice of the punishment for a runaway, like some circle of Dante Alighieri’s _Inferno_. He was torn between laughing and crying.

“He must have believed twenty was enough,” Assaf added and Jared almost thought there was a trace of disappointment in the man’s voice, but that surely couldn't have been the case. From the beginning, the odalik had been a sympathetic companion throughout Jared’s induction into the harem. Even as he was supposed to have been taken to the doctor, Assaf had sounded doleful when he explained – while giving Jared a few, blessed mouthfuls of water – that Jared _had_ to be punished first. And then a disturbing thought came to him. What if he had been Assaf’s responsibility? His charge? If that were the case, then his flight from the seraglio would probably have earned the other man a stiff penalty as well.  Perhaps if he shouldered more, then Assaf would have less to pay.

“It is all on me,” he rasped harshly. “No one else should have to suffer for what I did. I was alone in it.”

There was utter silence around him. Despite the sun that warmed Jared’s windburned skin, it left him shivering where he lay. The ground was hard and cool beneath him, unyielding and cruel. Whoever was holding the rough plank his feet had been lashed to lowered it carefully and Jared bit his lip so hard to keep from screaming out in relief that he tasted the bitter flavor of blood in his mouth. But he wouldn’t give anyone, least of all Jensen, the satisfaction of announcing his discomfort. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what Jensen had meant when he whispered into Jared’s ear that all would be as it should have been. In a perverse way, Jared was grateful for the pain. It gave him something singular to focus on, because when he thought of Jensen, he was torn in so many directions he wondered if the pieces could ever be fit back together again. And if they could, what picture would they end up creating?

 

_“I saw one of these constructed in person,” Jared said softly and respectfully, like he was in church. He and Jensen stood alone in his father's study, only sunlight and dust motes a witness to their trespasses. The patriarch had left for an unavoidable, week-long business trip to London and the household was decidedly lighter for his absence, though none would dare to voice such observations. Jared wasn't sure if he would pay for the transgression later, but deemed it a worthy risk to show Jensen his father’s latest acquisition. They stood before the brass and wood invention as Jared adjusted one end to point more towards the sunlight streaming in through the large, French doors._

_“Somewhat like a telescope, the kaleidoscope has a similar construction, but instead of a glass opening at the end to look out and enlarge what you see, one views a collection of stones and gems that are dissected and reflected by the mirrors within,” Jared explained as he urged Jensen to take a gander through the viewing portal. The device had been a belated, but surprisingly unique (as most people still used portable versions), holiday gift from a business acquaintance. This one was significantly larger and required a stand. Jared’s father had set the tripod based-instrument up in his study and, as far as Jared knew, never once indulged in the unique patterns it created beyond the first, perfunctory glance he’d given it. Jared, however, had been enchanted on the spot._

_“Hmm,” the older man murmured, bent at the waist, as he rotated the ring at the far end. For a brief minute, Jared was able to gaze, unabashedly, at him while he was otherwise engaged. In the bright light, Jensen’s hair shone like it had been shot through with golden threads and Jared was able to practically count each of the cinnamon-colored freckles that splashed across the other man’s nose and cheeks. As with constellations, Jared searched for images as he connected them in his mind. Like a guilty secret, he wondered if Jensen had more scattered about his body. He was still staring, head tilted to one side, when Jensen pulled back and straightened his posture. Jared scrambled to compose himself and cursed the slow flush that began to suffuse his cheeks at being caught out. Jensen, for his part, merely pursed his lips and gave him a devilish grin._

_“Quite a view, eh?” he smirked and Jared was momentarily confused._

_“Yes, yes it is,” he stammered as he searched for something relevant to say. “You could stare all day and never grow bored.”_

_Jensen’s smile grew. He leaned against a nearby bookcase and lazily crossed his arms against his broad chest. “Is that so?” he drawled, absently rubbing a finger along his nose as if troubled by an itch he couldn’t soothe._

_Shifting about nervously, Jared clarified, “Well, the patterns never seem to repeat themselves.”_

_“Perhaps if you studied more diligently they might?” Jensen offered. The suggestion seemed innocently sincere, but when Jared dared look the man in his deep, green eyes, there was a wicked mirth dancing in their depths. Jared’s face was so hot, he was certain it glowed._

_Jensen eventually took pity on his discomfiture. “It is an intriguing invention, I’ll grant you that. You say there are only a few gemstones inside?”_

_Eager to speak on safer subjects, Jared leapt at the change in course their conversation had taken. “Yes, there aren’t more than a dozen or so stones and bits of colored glass inside. Isn’t it remarkable how many combinations they can form?” He stepped over to the apparatus in question._

_Bent over and focusing on the kaleidoscope, Jared didn't notice how Jensen pushed himself off the bookcase and moved closer. Adjusting the outer ring of the ocular device, Jared continued on, “No matter how many times I’ve looked through it, I can never seem to get enough of it.” He jumped slightly as Jensen sidled up behind him and placed strong hands possessively on his hips._

_Stretching himself along Jared’s back, Jensen brushed his lips against his ear. “It reminds me of your ever-changing eyes, dear boy, never content to settle on one color no matter how long I stare.”_

_Jared’s heart raced at the contact and the words. He slowly straightened, thinking Jensen would step back, but the other man held his ground. That left Jared pressed snuggly up against him and he thrilled at the illicit contact. “So many possibilities,” he murmured, trying to stay focused, as Jensen dragged his nose along the outer curve of Jared’s ear before trailing it through the wispy hairs at the base of his neck._

_“So simple and yet, those few objects can be broken up and split apart only to come back together as something new and different every time you turn the wheel,” Jared replied breathlessly. “Like all of us, made up of a few, choice ingredients and life tumbles the parts around to make something unique out of it all. But wouldn't it be lovely if we could reinvent ourselves as easily?”_

_“Become someone new?” Jensen breathed hotly. “Break apart and come together again, Jared?” He placed a kiss, no stronger than the brush of butterfly wings, against the nape of Jared’s neck._

_Goose flesh erupted along the spot and spread down his arms. “Yes, just like that.”_

_Jensen nudged his hips gently and Jared allowed himself to be turned until he was facing Jensen again, their bodies pressed hotly together from the waist downward. The crinkle of fabric against fabric was obscenely loud. With one hand, Jensen brushed aside Jared’s fringe, tucking a longer strand behind his ear tenderly. “And if you could remake yourself, who would you become, Jared?”_

 

Jared hadn’t had a ready answer for Jensen during that fateful summer and he didn't have one for himself now. He only knew that he was shattered, the splintered pieces sharp and wounding. Thick, blunt fingers wormed their way in between the hemp that tied his feet to the wood as another pair worked the knots free on his hands. He assumed it was Assaf who gently raised him up by his shoulders and braced him. The moment his hands were undone, Jared reached up to tug the blindfold off. He didn’t care about the immediate condition of his eyes; he only wanted to see, sick to death of the pressing darkness.

Assaf attempted to stop him, but he shrugged himself free of the other man and pulled off the offending blindfold and almost as quickly regretted it. The late morning sun stung bitterly and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut before he raised a shielding hand over them. He blinked and blinked again, although each pass of his lids was an aching scrape against the injured orbs. Squinting, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He had suspected that he had been brought back to the courtyard he knew so well. The splash of the pool had been a familiar murmur and the hushed voices that had surrounded him could have only been the other concubines. And he was right. However, as his sore eyes scanned the crowd, the concubines’ silk and satin hues bleeding into one another, he was hard-pressed not to scuttle backwards from the glares cast his way. The entire harem encircled him and the near-hungry expressions some of them wore painfully reminded Jared of the poor, fat, orange fish slaughtered for their amusement. They looked at him no differently than when they had watched those animals die. But there was one figure that stood apart in more ways than one.

Only a few feet away, Jensen cut an ominous figure in his flowing, dark robes, like a bird of prey. His strong chest was heaving as though from some great exertion. Darting his eyes around, Jared spotted Worthy holding a crop-sized cane in his hand, but he was the only one as far as Jared could tell. Had Jensen been the second punisher, meting out his wasteland justice for all the others to witness? When the blond man stepped closer, Jared couldn’t help himself. Acting purely on instinct, he retreated back into Assaf despite his wounded feet. He cursed himself for his cowardice even as the odalik clasped his shoulders firmly and held him in place, whether to stop him or prevent further injury he had no idea. Blinking back tears he was powerless to stop in the burning sunlight, Jared chanced another glimpse of Jensen. The older man had stopped in his tracks and a strangely wounded expression crossed his face. It was gone almost as soon as Jared had seen it, replaced by the stern visage that he was all too familiar with of late. It was the face that haunted his every dream.

Turning slowly so that he made eye-contact with each person present, Jensen stretched out one hand and pointed directly at Jared when he had finished his pass. “al-walad ‘Gözde’,” Jensen proclaimed loudly. Several of the concubines gasped at the pronouncement and Assaf tightened his hold on Jared. For his part, Jared ducked his head, mind awhirl. He thought the word “Gözde” was familiar, but couldn’t immediately place it. If it was enough to make some of the ghoulish concubines gasp, he feared it wasn’t a good thing. Jensen continued to speak in his deep, gruff voice – the sound bringing goose flesh to the fore even as Jared struggled to remain indifferent to it. He also resisted the urge to swipe at his eyes as they ached miserably, although not nearly as bad as his feet did.

Jensen continued to speak, but Jared gave up any pretense of trying to follow along. He heard the doctor’s name mentioned again, along with strings of Arabic that meant nothing to him. He slumped a little in Assaf’s grip, suddenly bone-weary of so very much. It took Assaf jiggling his shoulders to rouse him enough to realize that Jensen had finished speaking and both Wisdom and Worthy ( _did those two ever separate?_ he wondered idly) had stepped up alongside them. Jared wanted to refuse their outstretched hands with every fiber of his being. He really did. But as the _King James Bible_ proverb reminded him, “Pride _goeth_ before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.” He had no desire to crawl before the others. Grudgingly, he raised his hands and clasped the other men’s forearms.

With a gentleness that caught him off-guard, Jared was hoisted carefully upright. He hissed when more of his weight was transferred to his feet and that wounded look was back on Jensen’s face. Jared was growing more and more confused. If Jensen had demanded his punishment, as he took the odalik’s words to mean, why should he appear so guilty for it? Did he not think it would be painful? That made no sense. Of course, neither did what unfolded next.

As the two guards began to steer him away from the concubines, Assaf rapidly began speaking to Jensen, gesturing between Jared and himself. Jared was completely befuddled and more than a little apprehensive when Jensen finally nodded and the eunuchs returned him into the center of the group. Jensen turned away from Jared’s slightly fearful face and addressed the concubines again. Jared watched, perversely fascinated, as many of them grew restless at Jensen’s words. There was some pushing and shoving in what was clearly an attempt by several to jockey for position. By the time Jensen had cast his jade-green eyes back towards him, Jared was sorely lost. Assaf moved to his side and began to speak softly to him.

“The Sheikh has raised you up from the ranks and named you his ‘Favorite’. There are some advantages to your new position, but the most pressing is that you must choose an attendant,” the odalik explained rapidly.

Jared tossed mystified glances between the odalik and Jensen.

“He has announced your new position and asked who might be inclined to serve you,” Assaf continued.

 _So that’s why some stepped forward,_ Jared mused. _I’ve graduated from entertainment to advancement in the blink of an eye. Or make that at the whim of my captor_.

Jared shuffled painfully around, taking in the avaricious faces that shone back at him. He was expected to pick one of them and what? Take them in? Nourishing a viper in one’s bosom only led to an ill reward for the host; he was well-versed in that. He was about to adamantly – protocols and further punishments be damned – refuse, when he spotted Genevieve as she was shoved aside by Matthew and another woman. Her shoulders were drawn up and he saw tears on her cheeks and, unlike the rest, she did not even attempt to draw attention to herself. Even as Assaf was saying, “I would be more than –” Jared thrust his hand towards her.

“If Genevieve would be willing,” he rasped, “I choose her.”

Several concubines turned towards the petite woman even as the dark-haired girl wiped rapidly at her face and stepped forward for the sheikh’s inspection. Jensen regarded both her and Jared with a narrowing assessment before jerking his head sharply in agreement. Genevieve graced Jared with a wavering smile as she shouldered her way past Assaf and a nonplussed Worthy to drag Jared’s right arm across her own shoulders. Despite the situation, Jared was once again as close to laughter as he was tears, picturing the sight they must surely have made to those gathered round, with him towering over her as she practically carried him. Noting both the odalik’s and Jensen’s dark scowls, Jared feared for the briefest of instants that he had made a terrible error, but he couldn’t imagine his life getting any worse than it already was and dismissed his fears as unfounded.

He tipped his head close as he spoke softly in her ear. “I don’t know what happens next.”

“We are taking you to your new apartments and the doctor will come straight away,” Genevieve murmured in return.

“New apartments?” Jared gasped, his voice still stripped raw from the desert storm.

“Shh,” Genevieve quieted him. “You sound terrible. Use what energy you have to help me move your giant self and I’ll answer anything you want to know once we’re there.” And she huffed under his weight.

“And here I thought you were prepared to carry me,” he teased, surprising both himself and the wisp of a girl under his arm with the jest.

“Another time,” she quipped and wrapped her arm more tightly about his waist.

Jared’s brief flash of humor evaporated like morning fog in sunlight. “No, there won’t be a next time.”

“Shh, we’ll talk later,” Genevieve repeated herself, casting a meaningful glance to the two eunuchs who escorted them.

Jared bobbed his head in agreement, but it was more to humor her than anything else. His feet beat in time with his heart and he lowered his lids to half-mast in an attempt to block out the daylight which burned them like fire. What a sorry sight he was, in his rags, shuffling along on bruised, bare feet. He knew he should have been paying closer attention to where he was being taken, should have been plotting out routes and scanning for stationary guards, but he was too tired. And, if he was completely honest with himself, he no longer believed that escape was a viable option considering how well his last attempt played out. He was well and truly caught for all his efforts. The only thing that had changed for him was which cage he was a prisoner in. He idly hoped this one might come with a view.

Climbing a set of stairs eventually roused him from his melancholy. No matter how much he detested their touch, Jared knew that he and Genevieve did not possess the wherewithal to mount the steps unaided. With a quiet word, the petite concubine relinquished her position to Worthy as Wisdom flanked Jared on his left side. As they carefully climbed the never-ending staircase, Genevieve’s fearless threats and orders to the eunuchs to be gentle punctuating each and every step, Jared’s energy finally flagged. By the time the doors to the apartments opened, his head was lolling forward and exhaustion settled over him like a woolen blanket – scratchy and smothering.

He was barely aware of his surroundings as the guards carried him to a large bed and lowered him onto it. Genevieve tied back the muslin netting that draped the entire monstrosity before fussing with his injured limbs, carefully shoving several pillows underneath them. Jared hardly noticed as she exchanged hushed words with the eunuchs. The mattress was so soft and the sheets smelled of rosewater and sunlight. He half-believed he was disappearing into its heavenly softness and decided he didn’t care any longer. There was a gentle breeze that wafted throughout the chamber and he distantly heard the sound of a tap opening and closing before he drifted off into a light doze.

The next thing he was aware of was the soothing press of a cool cloth against his burnt cheeks. Someone was humming something slightly off-key as they brushed the cloth tentatively against the sore skin under his eyes. “Mmm, that’s nice,” he sighed.

“That was the idea,” Genevieve replied and Jared didn’t have to open his eyes to hear the smile in her voice. With a steady hand, she shifted down to his legs and carefully cleaned his feet, mindful of the undersides. “I don’t want to do any more until the doctor examines you,” she explained when she finally stopped, much too soon in Jared’s mind.

The subsequent sound that disturbed Jared from his half-sleep was the nearly delicate clearing of a throat. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked several times to try and force them to focus, with moderate success. “Jared, the doctor is here,” Genevieve announced.

The doctor was a slender, nearly skeletal man, perhaps in his fifties if Jared absolutely had to hazard a guess. Standing no more than a half dozen inches taller than Genevieve, he was dressed in severe white and black robes, which only emphasized his slenderness. His receding, thinning, dark hair was combed back severely, highlighting his prominent forehead. The only thing that appeared large on the man at all was his aquiline nose. Despite his stature, he easily carried a large, worn case in his left hand that reminded Jared of the one he had gifted his brother James with last Christmas. Jared wasn’t sure if it was that memory or the damage from the storm that caused his eyes to suddenly well up. He slashed at them viciously, missing James desperately in that moment.

“Don’t scratch, Mr. Padalecki,” the man admonished him. His English was slow, precise, and had a decidedly British lilt to it.

“W-what?” Jared stuttered.

“I said, don’t scratch,” the doctor repeated himself once more.

“No,” Jared ground out, “you called me ‘Mr. Padalecki’.” And his voice caught in his throat. The return of such a simple dignity that he didn’t know the value of until it had been taken from him left him near speechless.

“I did pronounce it correctly, didn’t I?” he wondered politely.

Jared tried not to sniffle like a child. “Yes, perfectly. Thank you so much.”

“Can I do anything?” Genevieve asked, continuing to speak in English since the doctor was.

“Yes, my dear. Would you bring me a small table for my case and then please leave us for a while,” the doctor requested.

Genevieve looked at Jared nervously and seemed unsure. Jared was also at a loss.

“I have to ask Mr. Padalecki a few questions and examine him,” the doctor explained. “Since I swore my office by the Oath of Hippocrates, anything he and I might discuss has to be kept private.”

Genevieve brought over an octagonal, wooden table and placed it alongside the head of the bed. “That’s perfect,” the doctor thanked her as he placed his case upon it.

“I will be in the next room if you need me, Jared,” Genevieve told the young Englishman, before leaving in a rustle of ruby silk.

Once the doctor opened his case, he turned back to Jared and extended his hand. “Let me properly introduce myself. My name is Doctor Richings.”

Jared nearly enveloped the smaller man’s hand within his own. “It is a p-pleasure to meet you,” he stumbled over the societal niceties.

The doctor placed his other hand over Jared’s and patted him reassuringly. “I understand this is not the most auspicious of meetings. Why don’t we get started and the sooner I finish, the sooner you can get some proper rest, Mr. Padalecki.”

Jared couldn't help himself and he sniffed again. “Thank you for that, but you may call me ‘Jared’ if you’d like.”

Fiddling with some of the contents of his case, Richings reminded him, “As I explained to your attendant, anything you choose to tell me in confidence shall remain that way. To better care for you, I need your complete honesty. Do you understand?”

“Except for the Sheikh, of course. You must tell him everything, correct?” Jared replied wearily.

“No, Jared. I will only share the generalities of your condition with him unless you bid me otherwise. My Hippocratic Oath ensures that my visit is only for the convenience and advantage of the _patient_ and that I refrain from doing injury or wrong from falsehood no matter the patient’s rank or station,” he ensured Jared. “I am only here for you, my boy.”

Jared didn't know how to respond to that, so he only bobbed his head briefly.

“Good. Now that that is settled, do I have your permission to examine you and ask a few questions while I do so?” he inquired as he perched fine, wire-rimmed spectacles on his hawk-like nose.

“Yes,” Jared choked, again overcome by emotions as someone was _asking_ his permission to touch him instead of taking what they wanted.

The doctor lit a small oil lamp, sat near the head of the bed and then said, “I am going to check your eyes first as I understand you spent a night out in the storm. Nasty, those summer shamals. Please try to keep your eyes open as best you can and follow the lamp as I pass it back and forth before your face.”

Richings waved the lamp first sideways and then in an up and down motion in front of Jared. Though it caused him some tearing to do so, Jared tracked the movement without difficulty. The lamplight flickered oddly against the doctor’s glasses, making it appear as though he had flames in place of his eyes.

“Very good, my boy. Now, I am going to hold the lamp with my left hand while I gently pull down on first your right and then your left lower lid. Is that all right?”

“Yes,” Jared whispered.

After a close inspection, the doctor blew out the lamp and set it aside on the small table. “You were extremely fortunate. You only slightly scratched your eyes. I am going to prescribe a mineral oil for you to use every night for a fortnight.” He rummaged around in his bag and withdrew a slim vial with a clear liquid inside, along with a glass pipette. “A few drops in each eye before you retire for the evening. The oil will blur your vision, which is why I suggest applying it only at night, so you aren't overly inconvenienced by it. And since you are not alone, your attendant can help you with anything you might need while thusly incapacitated.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“No thanks necessary, but we’re not finished yet. If you don’t mind, I would like to continue my examination.”

With Jared’s agreement, the doctor carried out a thorough exam, asking pertinent questions only, while gently prodding his body this way and that. But each time he went to touch Jared, he explained exactly what he was going to do first and obtained consent. Jared found himself relaxing for the first time since he’d entered the harem, feeling both safe and extremely vulnerable in the other man’s calm presence.

“Before I examine your feet, I do want to verify one thing. Forgive me for the question, as it is of a personal nature. Are you a carrier, Jared?”

“W-what?” Jared sputtered.

“You’ve been with the Sheikh and I want to verify that there’s no chance any baby might have been injured by your time in the storm,” Richings explained kindly.

“No, there’s no chance of that,” Jared told him, absently rubbing his abdomen. For some reason, the question made him sad, instead of indignant or angry.

“Thank you for telling me. Carriers are rare, but there are certain health concerns that are different for them than for other men, so that is why I needed to know. Now,” he exhaled in that slow and precise manner of his, “let’s take a look at your feet.”

“I’m sorry,” Jared blushed, and instinctively tried to cover them. Richings raised a curious eyebrow. “I know it’s impolite to show the bottoms of them to you,” Jared offered in hasty explanation.

“Not for me, my boy. I never embraced the religion here,” he said. “Can you roll onto your stomach? It would be easier for me that way.”

As Jared did as the doctor instructed, he couldn't help asking, “How did you end up here?”

“I grew up and studied medicine in England, but felt that my instructors there were lacking a greater worldview of medicine for my tastes. So I travelled throughout the peninsula, studying Arabic medicine, which incorporated so many cultures’ traditional practices into one form. And the libraries have amazing collections, some that would take a lifetime to read through completely,” Richings shared with him, all the while deftly prodding and testing Jared’s feet.

“Eventually, my path crossed with the Sheikh’s father and he made me an offer I couldn't refuse.”

“You no longer suffer any wanderlust?” Jared wondered aloud, inwardly wincing and balking at the man’s deft touch as he found a particularly tender spot.

“Not as much as when I was a young man,” the doctor replied. “However, I maintain an extensive correspondence with physicians in the Americas, not to mention Europe and other regions, to stay abreast of the latest findings.” When he pressed strongly on the inside of Jared’s left arch, the boy flinched noticeably.

“You are fortunate they used canes on you instead of clubs. A club would certainly have broken and possibly shattered some of the bones in your feet,” he told Jared as he finished up his inspection.

“I saw one of the canes,” Jared mumbled into his pillow, unable to face the physician. “I don’t understand why something so small caused so much discomfort. I must truly be a very weak man, I suppose, because every stroke burned like fire.”

“The underside of the foot has a large collection of nerves. And unlike other parts of the body, the nerves there do not adapt to recurring strikes or impacts,” Richings informed him, “so each blow seemed fresh. It is a brutally effective way of hurting someone without long-lasting damage.”

“So I should be grateful?” Jared grumbled, before coughing mildly.

“Yes, you should. I strongly suggest you stay off your feet for two to three days unless absolutely necessary.” As the man packed up his case, he added, “As for your throat, I recommend that you drink as much warm tea laced with honey as you can over the next, few days. That should rectify any lingering soreness you might have there. If I have your permission, I will pass this along to your lovely attendant so that she can help you as needed.”

Jared twisted around and studied the doctor. He could see no deception or malice in his muddy-green eyes and so he agreed. Rolling his sore, lower lip into his mouth, Jared contemplated something. “Would you be able to –” he started to ask, but the thin man closed his eyes slowly and stopped Jared with a single word.

“No.”

Jared’s shoulders slumped. He’d been defeated before he’d even been able to ask for the man to send word to his family.

“In choosing to live here, I chose to accept the laws of the land. There are rules even I must follow. I am sorry, my boy, but I cannot help you in that regard,” he admitted as he stood and collected his bag.

Jared nodded, unwilling to meet the older man’s eyes.

“Please don’t hesitate to call on me if you need anything else. I will just have a word with your servant before I go.” With his head turned away into the fluffy pillow, Jared wasn’t sure if that was regret he heard in the other man’s voice. He decided to pretend it was, regardless of the truth.

By the time the doctor left, Jared was close to asleep. Tiny, insistent fingers poked at his side, keeping him from resting completely. “No sleeping yet,” Genevieve chirped. “I’ve ordered some tea and a small meal for you first. And,” she continued on, ignoring Jared’s attempts to roll away from her, “I am going to put some of those drops in your eyes.”

“Genevieve, the doctor said to do it before I retired, since I won’t be able to see well with them in,” he told her, exasperated by her tenacity.

“Oh, so you can see fine right now? Tell me then, what’s along that far wall?” she demanded, pointing off to one side.

Jared sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. No matter how much he squinted, however, he couldn’t make out exactly what she was referring to. Casting a quick gaze around the room, other than it was surely five times larger than his old one, he couldn’t really discern any finer details.

“I thought so,” she crowed triumphantly. “Lean back and let me do my work.”

Jared did as he was bidden, but swallowed guiltily. “You don’t have to. I can always request Assaf.”

And the refined, feminine Genevieve snorted. “I am certain he would adore that. No,” she snapped before Jared could say another word, “I might not have bulled my way to the front, but I wouldn’t have accepted your request if I didn’t want to. There are few choices that come to those of us who live in the harem. I made this one gladly.”

Before Jared could say anything more, she shushed him and proceeded to place several drops in each of his eyes. Although hard-pressed, Jared resisted the urge to scrub at them after she was done.

“Does that hurt?” she whispered after.

“Not at all,” he assured her as he tried to see. The pain from blinking had diminished, but now it was like he was viewing the world through a dirty, greasy window. He told her as much.

“Then close your eyes and rest. I will wake you when the food arrives,” she replied.

“I’m sure you will,” Jared quipped, before rolling to his side and dropping off into sleep.

True to her word, Genevieve had roused him when the guards brought a few trays of food. Despite his short nap, Jared was groggy and disoriented. If he had been more awake, he would have been highly embarrassed as his petite companion proceeded to feed him. Too tired and sore to complain, he gratefully accepted her aid and fell back to sleep almost as soon as he was finished.

The next few days passed in much the same manner. Genevieve fed him, washed the parts of him his modesty would allow (which was very little) and helped him to and from their apartment’s private bath and water closet. She made sure to ply him with honey-laden beverages and a variety of soft, soothing foods, while doling out his medicine every evening with precise accuracy. He was dimly cognizant of his meager wardrobe and few items he had amassed while living in the dormitories returned to him, as well as some furniture removed from the room. He allowed Genevieve to place his clothing where she saw fit. There was also some other items added to his collection of “belongings” but Genevieve told him they were currently of little import and not to fuss over them. She urged him to rest and he eagerly capitulated, too weary for much else.

By the fourth day, his feet no longer throbbed incessantly and his eyes did not water, although that was probably in part to due to the fact that Genevieve kept the drapes pulled and excessive light to a bare minimum within the main area. He had no room to complain. Expecting a battle, Jared prepared an expansive argument as to why he should be allowed to bathe himself in privacy and was startled to near silence when his companion agreed. As she helped him to the private bath, despite his assurances that his feet were mostly recovered, Jared had his first chance to truly take in the chambers he now resided in.

The main room was comprised of a single, open space that, upon closer inspection, was more than likely ten times the size of his last abode. Both the floor and the walls were a warm and soothing crème color, the furniture rich, dark wood with brass accents. A pair of “windows” flanked his bed; their openings lined with screens so only diffuse light spilled in from them. Along with his large, carved bed, which actually could accommodate a man of his height in comfort, there were several bookcases along one wall. On closer inspection, Jared saw they were completely filled with books. Spotting Poe’s double volume set, _Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque,_ amongst the titles, he would have gladly lingered before them, but Genevieve bustled him past the collection as well as the small pool set into the floor nearby.

“After you are clean, then you can peruse to your heart’s content,” she teased.

There was a small hallway that separated his room from hers, with the bath squarely between them. He entered and was pleased to note she didn’t try to follow him inside. Luxuriating in the blessed privacy, Jared bathed quickly, eager to be rid of the last vestiges of the Follower that he still carried on his person. But rather than linger in the pleasantly scented water for too long, he cleaned himself in a nearly perfunctory manner. The quiet and solitude didn’t offer him comfort, as it happened. Instead, there was only more chance to reflect and if he did that, he was afraid he’d go mad.

The past fortnight’s events had been nigh on overwhelming and he had begun to question his sanity by the end of them. And first, last and always, Jensen was in the middle of the whirlwind. Even as he washed, averting his eyes from the golden piercings that sparkled in the shafts of sunlight permeating the chamber, and tried to avoid the sensation of rubbing his hands over too smooth flesh, Jared couldn’t help but think back to that night he had passed with Jensen.

His memories were muddled at best, riddled with as many holes as the domed roof above his bath, but some moments were startling in their clarity, made more surreal by the lack of anything visual to accompany their sensations. The feel of Jensen’s hands on his body, burning him with their rough strokes. The way his fingers had played along Jared’s skin, teasing and taunting him at the same time, brushing and rubbing up against parts of him no one had ever touched before. Squirming uncomfortably in the tepid bathwater, Jared couldn’t help but recall the way the older man’s mouth had tormented him, but brought indescribable pleasure along with that same torture. His mind flashed to the sound of ripping cloth when Jensen tore his shirt from him and the way he was trapped with his hands tied above him. He had been frightened, but there had been something darkly exhilarating in it as well. He closed his eyes and shivered, unsure of himself.

He knew he should be horrified by it all and most ashamed of the way he himself had acted. He remembered writhing under the other man’s firm hand, excited by the domination and even worse, by the pleasures Jensen had wrung out of him. And when Jensen had pushed a part of himself inside…Jared sprang out of the water, horrified that his manhood had begun to grow and press against the confines of the chastity cage. He stepped over to the tap along the wall, nearly slipping on the slick tiles in his haste, and filled the basin underneath with cold water, which he immediately doused himself with. It was harsh and shocking and did a more than adequate job of quenching the strange desire prickling up and down his spine.

He grabbed a folded linen and ruthlessly began to scrub himself down. A stray thread caught on one of his hoops and he nearly tugged the offending piece of jewelry out in his angry swipes. However, the rough action coupled with the chilled water reminded him quite starkly of his predicament. Even as he thought the phantom taste of Jensen’s full lips lingered on his still, the other man’s harsh words echoed in his ear.

_“Look at you, all fucked out and spent, lying there like a ‘three-penny upright’ in all your finery. Isn’t that what you said?”_

Jared tried very hard not to cry at the memory. To hear those words slip past Jensen’s lips, dripping with poison, was horrendous. It was far worse, however, to know he had deserved every, vitriolic stab as he had said them first about Jensen’s own mother. He had taken the one thing Jensen had trusted him with and not only sullied her memory before throwing it back in his face, but had done so in a room full of witnesses, turning Jensen’s pain into a public spectacle and mockery. It had been the only chink in Jensen’s armor and Jared had burned him with it.

But had he deserved the returning favor? Perhaps Jensen hadn't exposed him completely to the photographer’s eye, but he had revealed more than Jared ever would have to another. And then there was the matter of the other sheikhs and Jensen’s threats to let one of them take him away. Which had been worse? One who would see him unmanned or the other who had made it abundantly clear with his body that he would take Jared again and again as he saw fit? He stood there, water dripping down his hairless body and couldn’t stop shivering. The bath was suddenly oppressive with its lingering steam, the air heavy and uncomfortable with moisture. He took several, gasping breaths trying to calm himself. As his eyes fluttered shut, he heard Jensen’s voice once more, soothing him and telling him he was safe, just as he had in that horrible cave that necessity had forced them to shelter in. Jensen had risked his own life to save Jared, only to bring him back to his cage as soon as it was humanly possible. Everything was backwards and upside down.

Jared had no idea how long he might have lingered there in his confusion if Genevieve hadn’t threatened to check on him.

“I will be there momentarily,” he called out, scrambling to dress himself in the items she had left for him. He was pleased she hadn’t chosen anything risqué, but had left the more simply cut shirt and pants he was growing to favor. When he reemerged into the main room, fully intending to see if any of the books available to him were in a language he could actually read, Genevieve was waiting for him with her tiny arms across her chest. She scrutinized him closely, lingering the longest on his face, eventually coming to a decision.

She went to chest and removed a pair of sandals for him. Holding them out, she said, “You can look at those books later. We are going to go outside so you can take in some air and we can get some color back in your cheeks.”

Absently, Jared brought a hand to his face. “I don’t know if that is such a wise idea,” he began, fiddling with the damp hair curling along his jaw. It was growing out and he idly thought it needed trimming.

Genevieve, however, was not having any of his equivocations. She bent down and placed his shoes at his feet. Jared flushed at the gesture. “Please don’t do that. It was one thing when I couldn’t walk, but don’t kneel before me,” he instructed her softly. She raised her head, dark brown eyes warm and shining, and smiled at him.

“Come on,” she held out her hand. “It will be fine. Trust me.”

Jared slipped into his sandals and reluctantly clasped her hand. She led him to the threshold, which he hadn’t crossed since he’d been brought to the apartments. Hesitating briefly, he let her tug him out and down the stairs, surprised there weren’t more guards nearby.

“Where are we going?” he finally piped up, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“I want to see inside the Courtyard of the Gözdes firsthand,” she replied. “It’s so exciting to go somewhere new.”

Jared smiled, trying to muster up something of the excitement his companion felt, but there was nothing there for him to summon. Soon enough, they were inside the familiar courtyard. While Genevieve wandered around, touching some plants, stopping to sniff delicately at the roses, Jared scanned along the top of the wall. All the rounded, decorative ornaments that had dotted its length were gone. Judging by the cracks and jagged edges, they’d been recently smashed off. There was no way Jared was scaling the wall a second time. He knew he should have been surprised, but he wasn’t. Jensen wasn’t a man to make the same mistake twice. Apparently some things didn’t change after all.

“Jared, come over here,” Genevieve beckoned to him. He spotted her under the generous shade of what looked like a weeping willow and he shuddered imperceptibly as he recalled the words of 137th Psalm.

_“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?”_

Jared joined her in the shade, but he was unwilling to lean against the tree. He remembered stories he’d read when he was small of willows being able to uproot themselves and stalk unwary folk. It was a childish indulgence, but one he couldn’t shake.

“Isn’t it beautiful in here?” she asked him. “This ghaf tree, for instance,” she patted the trunk lightly, “and so many colorful flowers, especially the roses.”

“Yes, the last time I was here, I thought them quite lovely,” Jared admitted.

Genevieve wrinkled her forehead in obvious bewilderment. “I thought the only time you were here was when you tried to flee. You stopped to smell the roses first?”

Jared couldn’t help himself and laughed at the absurd picture her words painted of him, bent over and inhaling the flower’s perfume, with his rope of bedsheets hanging from his shoulders. “I am sorry,” he apologized once he had caught his breath. When he explained why he laughed, her frown lessened and she smiled a little, too.

“I was here before that,” he added.

She sat up straight and looked at him with wide eyes. “Jared, you shouldn’t have done that. You could have been disciplined.” He dropped his eyes at the mention of punishment. “Oh,” she caught herself, “I can be so foolish at times.” Placing her hand over Jared’s tightly clenched one, she apologized. “I didn’t mean to. It’s only that no one is allowed in here. There hasn’t been a Favorite since the last sheikh. Whatever were you doing in here?”

“Assaf brought me here when he painted on the designs along my back,” he murmured. Even though the marks were fading, Jared was still troubled by them. “He thought it would be more private for the task.”

Genevieve sniffed as she leaned back against the ghaf tree. “Of course, _Assaf_ brought you here.”

Jared cocked his head, curious of her tone. Was she jealous of the position Assaf held or that he somehow had more leeway than other concubines? It made no sense, though, because Assaf had basically said he was at the bottom of the harem’s social ladder.

Genevieve rubbed her lip and regarded Jared with some calculation, before briefly flicking her eyes towards the only set of rooms that overlooked the gardens. “He brought you here because he hoped that the Sheikh might be watching,” she said quietly. “Assaf would risk much, even a beating, to be seen by him.”

There had to be more to the story, but for the moment Jared could only stare at the terrace that surveyed the garden’s expanse. It was the same one that Jensen had stood on when he’d screamed for Jared during the storm. He shifted his attention back to Genevieve with growing awareness and she nodded at him in acknowledgment.

“The Sheikh’s apartments have the only view of this place, since it is supposed to be filled by his favored. Jared,” she paused to lower her voice and duck her head so that she could catch his eye, “someone here is always watching. Trust no one.”

Casting a nervous glance back towards the terrace, Jared notice the drapes were jostled ever so slightly. There could be only one person up there. The only man Jared had ever loved.

His savior.

His jailer.

Jensen.


	24. Chapter 24

_ _

Jared didn’t know what to say after Genevieve’s warning. He had sensed eyes upon him, both seen and unseen, from the first moment he’d set foot within the seraglio. But to trust no one? Did she mean to include herself in that dire pronouncement? And how was he to live, as it were, if there was no one to claim even as an ally? He was beginning to grasp that there would probably be no such thing as a friend here – a morose realization he was, however, growing to accept. He wasn’t yet certain how he would move through his new world, since escape seemed impossible, but being friendless was not a foreign concept to him. It was, after all, the conditions he’d grown accustomed to living in his father’s house. He would persevere, he told himself. He would.

For the remainder of their time within the garden, Jared had kept his conversation limited to safer subjects, such as the flora and fauna of Qatar, which Genevieve had been a virtual font of information. He resolutely refused to glance towards the terrace for the rest of the time, and told himself he was not dwelling on the thought of Jensen watching them together amongst the roses. However, when they retired to their apartments for the evening’s repast, Jared found he couldn't resist asking Genevieve some difficult questions.

As she cleared away the dishes, pushing the trays of mezze aside, Jared curled his long fingers about her slender wrist. She paused in her work and quirked a quizzical eyebrow at the touch, but didn't pull away. “Why,” he asked hesitantly, “are you being so kind to me? And please don't tell me that it is obligation. I would have the truth, Genevieve.”

She drew her arm free and finished with the platters. Once she was done, she sat and crossed her legs in a most unladylike fashion (and Jared wondered how she managed such a position, like some Hindu yogi, in the clinging silks she wore) and sighed deeply. Meeting his gaze with her unflinching, coffee-colored eyes, she simply stated, “I do what I do because I think you can help me, Jared.”

Jared’s posture slumped a trifle at her admittance and he sank into the decorative cushions dejectedly, but it was simply as he had suspected. Still, the sting was bitter and he must have worn his heart on his sleeve because she quickly shifted closer and laid a hand on his forearm. “I am sorry for the abruptness of my words,” she offered, “but I won't lie to you.”

Jared grunted out a small laugh. The woman who told him to trust her in one breath and then warned him to trust no one in the next was telling him she’d never lie. Surprisingly, he believed her. That she wouldn't lie to him might be one of her truths, but she had never said she would be entirely honest with him, either. The circular logic was making him dizzy and he was very weary. He knew that he made errors in judgement when he was exhausted and contemplated if this was another of those times. She watched him intently, eyes flickering back and forth between his and finally, she appeared to have reached a decision. She untangled her limbs and stood up, all without the aid of her hands, like a trained dancer. Stepping daintily over to a small cabinet on the other side of the room, she opened its polished doors and extracted several items. When she returned, Jared saw she was carrying two glasses and a bottle of dark liquid. Sitting up straighter, he eyed her suspiciously.

“I think for this conversation…how do you British put it? I think we need a stiff drink,” she explained as she placed the glasses on the floor and resumed her contorted position with her legs folded up and crossed over themselves. She splashed a hefty dollop of the dark, amber liquid into each glass before setting the bottle to one side, within easy reach. She raised hers and held it aloft, clearly waiting for Jared to do the same.

He grudgingly lifted his glass, but paused. “I thought that alcohol was haraam,” he told her. He knew that Jensen indulged when he had been in England and, obviously, the First Kadin did considering she offered him some _that_ night. He assumed that, like his own country’s royalties, laws for the many did often not extend to the elite few. He goggled that Genevieve apparently kept spirits within their rooms, however.

“’They ask you about intoxicants and games of chance. Say: In both of them there is a great sin and means of profit for men, and their sin is greater than their profit. And they ask you as to what they should spend. Say: What you can spare,’” she quoted. “That’s taken from the Qur’an,” she added and tossed back her drink in one, fell swoop. “So there is some room for negotiation on the matter, I think. And rules are different for us here within the harem. After all, who would ever know what transpires within these walls?”

Jared was shocked at the way the tiny woman easily consumed the liquor. Even as he regarded his glass dubiously, she was already refilling hers. He shook his head, convinced it was a poor decision on his part ( _but_ , a tiny voice pointed out with a decidedly dark glee, _how could matters worsen?_ ), and knocked back his as well. He hissed at the sting and burn of the alcohol on his still-mending throat. But he couldn't deny the pleasant warmth that began to bloom in his belly almost immediately after. He placed his glass back on the polished floor with a distinct _clack_ and Genevieve smirked before she refilled it for him. He saluted her when it was full again, but decided to sip the second one instead. He would pace himself. She followed suit.

“I meant it,” she eventually said, appearing to savor the taste of the liquor, “when I told you I was doing all this because I thought you might be able to help me. I don't see another way for myself to improve my lot and I'd be a fool not seize an opportunity when presented with one. I am no fool, Jared.”

“I suspected as much,” he admitted reluctantly.

“This is all that I have,” she explained, raising her arm towards the room and what lay beyond. “My whole life has been leading me to this moment. I know of no other way to move through this life.”

Jared stared at the polished floor tiles intently, tracing his finger along the lines where they met up, feeling the uneven edges tug at his skin. “You didn’t have to agree to this. You could have always stayed where you were. Eventually, you would have had another…time with Je – the Sheikh.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably over Jensen’s title. “You might have…”and he shrugged his shoulders, not looking up. “You don’t have to be here,” he finally settled on.

For a minute or so, neither one said anything. When Jared found the courage to raise his head, he noticed that Genevieve had finished her second glass and was pouring out a third. She returned his regard with an unreadable one of her own, seeming to search his face for something. Pursing her lips together, she nodded once curtly and took a small swallow of the beverage before speaking.

“Can I trust you, Jared?”

That was decidedly not what he had expected her to say.

“Because what I am about to tell you was never meant to be shared. I am breaking a promise to my Sheikh and I don't know what the consequences might be,” she paused and her eyes flicked briefly to his healing feet, “but I don’t suppose it would be pleasant if I were to be found out.”

 “I shan't breathe a word,” he promised her fervently. “I swear.” And he meant it. There was no way that Jared would wish a punishment like the one he had suffered upon another.

“I was never...” and here she seemed to struggle for a word in English, “ _with_ the Sheikh that way. For me, this was the only path to more. And when I see him choose others,” she shook her head and corrected herself, “when I see him choose _you_ , I know there is nothing more for me. This is the only life I've known and I do not believe it is wrong to desire more or take more when presented with the opportunity.”

Jared ducked his head in shame. He had foggy recollections of his return to the harem that night, stumbling along in his torn clothes with his body marked by both his and Jensen’s passions. The following morning, he had been nauseous with himself for his behavior, torn up by his easy comportment. He had no explanation for the way he’d been overcome in Jensen’s presence. He had both wanted and feared the man in nearly equal measure, but he couldn't deny the way his body had craved every, last thing Jensen had visited upon it. And he would have submitted to more, had Jensen wished it. He couldn't deny that.

“I wasn’t with him in that way, either,” he told her, deciding to meet her confession with one of his own, the alcohol loosening his tongue.

Her eyes widened. “But I saw you when you returned that night. We all did and it was obvious he’d been with you.”

Nursing his drink, he shook his head. “Not in the way you think.”

“Did you try and refuse him?” she practically whispered, shocked. Given the state of his clothes that night, he could see why she might have thought so.

Jared laughed harshly. “I did not. He simply didn’t want that from me.” When he went to meet her eyes, he saw that Genevieve was regarding the flooring as studiously as he had been, her thick hair falling across her face.

“He didn't want me, either, Jared,” she replied quietly. “It was quite a blow. While I had only been with his father once before, I do know that man found me desirable. It hurt more than I care to admit to be found so wanting by his son.”

Jared discovered himself in the oddest of positions then. He hadn't fully decided how he felt about her admission. There was a small part of him he wouldn't name that was soaring with the knowledge the woman sitting opposite him had never lain with Jensen and that tiny portion of himself even speculated that might possibly be true for some of the other concubines as well. However, he also wanted to comfort her. Her course, from birth, was for this life and it must have been the worst failure to be rejected. Instinctively, he found himself willing to offer her some kind of consolation, despite his conflicting emotions.

“Apparently, we two must be some sort of exclusive club,” he tried to jest, but it was a humorless attempt. He raised his glass and finished off his drink, allowing her to top it a third time. “Perhaps,” he reasoned ruefully, staring at the glints of amber when he held the glass up towards the setting sun, “this was part of the problem.”

It was Genevieve’s turn to be perplexed.

“I don't think I was quite myself that night and it was probably the drink that was to blame,” he said, chuckling roughly that he was actually trying to come up with an excuse why Jensen would not have taken what he could have. _What you would have gladly given him_ , that sly voice slithered in his head. Closing his eyes briefly to try and silence that opinion, he knew for a fact his reaction to the alcohol had cost him a chance to actually speak to Jensen, reason with him and even offer an apology, no matter how much he knew his words would never be accepted by the older man.

“I know it tastes rather foul,” Genevieve agreed, unaware of his inner turmoil. “Did it make you ill?”

It was Jared’s turn for bewilderment. “It was far from foul. I believe that was part of the problem. I shouldn't have indulged as much as I did. I was…too relaxed from it.” Flashes of Jensen’s hands on his body, setting his skin on fire with his touch, raced through his head.

“I think my English is not as thorough as I had hoped, because I don’t understand what you’re saying,” the woman replied. “You actually _liked_ it and had more than one glass? I don't know of any concubine who ever enjoyed the horrid stuff.” Her lips curled in obvious distaste of the remembrance. “And I certainly don't know of any who were affected by it in the way you describe.”

“All the concubines have to drink it?” Jared asked her.

“When we are called for our turn with the Sheikh, we are required to appear before the First Kadin. She inspects us, advises us on what the Sheikh might be in need of,” and Jared winced at those words, “before having us drink that putrid liquid. Worthy undoes our chastity belts and we are presented to the Sheikh. Isn’t that what happened with you?”

Jared shifted uneasily, taking another drink of the alcohol. His recollections were slipshod at best. “The First Kadin offered me a drink as a way to fortify myself before appearing in front of the Sheikh,” he eventually admitted. “She said something about the drink was special.” His brows furrowed in concentration as he chased after the elusive memory. “There was some bit about how she shared the liquor with Jensen’s father and it was a pleasant ritual between them.” He didn’t notice the way that Genevieve’s eyebrows rose at the casual slip of Jensen’s given name. “I may have had three or more glasses of the stuff.” Rubbing his mouth tiredly, he added, “It was almost too sweet and there were strange, blue flowers inside the bottle.”

Genevieve sat straighter at that. “Blue flowers? Like the ones in the First Kadin’s gardens?”

“I can’t be sure,” Jared replied, leaning back against the embroidered pillows and closing his eyes. The liquor was making him sleepy. “I seem to recall her saying something about a lotus and her pools. Or maybe that’s not right. It is all so jumbled about in my head.” Peeling open his lids partway, he gave her an assessing, if weary, stare. “You know something, don’t you?”

Chewing on her lower lip, Genevieve answered, “I think I might have some suspicions about a great many things.” He fixed her with a harder glare. “Give me some time to think on it before I say something in haste only to regret it later.”

“At least,” he mumbled, “tell me about Assaf.” When she remained silent, he prodded, “You shouldn’t need to think on that, from what you already told me in the courtyard.”

“What do you know of him?” she answered his question with a question, sliding a little closer as she flipped her hair behind her bare shoulders.

“He told me he had been given to Jensen when he was young,” Jared recalled. “He said something about growing up with Jensen and how Jensen looked upon him like a brother and nothing more. He told me he thought he would never escape his position because of that. ” Jared frowned and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Genevieve reached out and snatched his hand back.

“Don’t,” she warned him absently. “They are getting so much better.”

“Sorry,” he laughed softly. She had been almost like a mother hen over his eyes after Richings’ visit, clucking after him in her own way.

“Is that all?” she prodded.

Jared exhaled noisily. “That is all that he shared with me. But I had the distinct impression that Assaf carried some unspoken feelings for him.”

Genevieve took several moments before she spoke. “I will tell you what I have heard from others who have been in the harem longer than I have and you can make of it what you will. Assaf was a gift to the Sheikh not long after his mother died.”

“Jensen was around ten years of age,” Jared interrupted, still unaware he no longer used the man’s proper title with Genevieve.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “The Sheikh had searched for a boy of similar age who was very fluent in English to keep his son company. There weren’t any other children within the harem and he thought the other concubines who could speak as well as his mother were too old to be suitable companions. So he found Assaf or, rather, was given Assaf by another sheikh looking to garner favor.”

“Assaf was handed over like you were,” Jared replied baldly. Once more, he was reminded that society here was not all that different from the ton back in England. Daughters and sons bandied about like pawns on a chessboard. He dragged his hand down over his mouth. There was no way he would ever accept that kind of life, either here or back at home if he ever saw those green shores again. It may have been the liquor that made him grow bold, but he swore in his heart he would never give in to that.

“Yes,” Genevieve continued, unperturbed but not indifferent to his unease. “Many of us are groomed for such a life. You seem to look at it as a terrible curse, but I have no issue with it,” she assured him. “I was given a better education than many girls received and a way to make something more of my life. Then again,” she added reluctantly, “until recently, I believed I had room for advancement. Assaf has known for years that he hadn’t any.”

“Jensen doesn’t love him,” Jared nearly whispered with dawning comprehension. The two had grown up together, spending nearly sixteen years with one another – almost Jared’s entire lifetime, he realized. He couldn’t imagine being around Jensen for so long, pining for him from afar, and not having the man return his affections. And then not being able to leave? It should have been a circle of Dante’s _Inferno_ , it was so insidious.

Genevieve took another sip. “No,” she agreed. “The Sheikh doesn’t love him.” She leaned down on one side, bending her arm and propping her head up in her hand. “I suspect the Sheikh loves you.”

“Ha!” Jared snorted even as his traitorous heart secretly reveled at the thought. “I think you have had too much of that,” he retorted, swinging a clumsy hand toward the half-full bottle, barely missing upending it.

Genevieve rolled onto her stomach, stretching out her slim body along the dark, red pillows, and placed both hands under her chin as she smiled a wicked grin. “I am certain he does.”

Opening and closing his eyes a few times, Jared snatched up his drink. “And why would you say something that absurd?” he demanded. That annoying voice inside his head was waiting with baited breath to hear her reasoning.

“Aside from the obvious?” she asked him snidely. When Jared stared at her blankly, she continued, “Rushing out into certain death for you when the Follower had descended?”

Jared tried to disregard that. “He was probably worried about the repercussions of my disappearance.” Genevieve frowned at the words and Jared was reminded that for all that she spoke well, English was not the tiny woman’s first language. “He probably feared a reprisal if anything had happened to me.”

It was Genevieve’s turn to stare at him as if he had two heads perched upon his neck before she began to laugh. “And who would know where you are, Jared? Who would miss you?”

While he recognized the truth in her logic, it still stung. He hunched up his shoulders and shrugged. She seemed to notice his discomfort and she quieted down. “I meant no offense by my words. But I promised you the truth, Jared.

“He raced out after you like some whisper his father tried to do for his mother,” she continued. And Jared sucked in his breath at the admission. Heart pounding, he wondered if Jensen knew of that fact and how that knowledge might ease some of the ill-will between him and his deceased father’s memory, to know the man had loved her that much after all. And then he snorted again. Here he was – a virtual prisoner – worrying about his captor’s feelings. Just how great a fool could he continue to be?

“He was planning on giving me away,” he snapped, suddenly eager to prove Genevieve wrong. Jensen held no affection for him any longer, the least of all being love. “He dragged me out before others and spoke of his dissatisfaction with me. He did nothing when one of them threatened to-to…unman me,” he finally spat. The memory still caused shivers to ghost over his skin and he eagerly finished his glass of spirits, suddenly needing its comforting warmth.

Genevieve sucked her lower lip into her mouth, her fine, white teeth like a phalanx of soldiers worrying the soft flesh. “So that is why you ran,” she breathed and he cursed his flapping tongue, blaming the liquor for it. “’One sin, I know, another doth provoke; Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke.’”

“Shakespeare’s _Pericles_?” he asked her.

She shrugged indifferently. “If he had wanted to be rid of you, you would have been gone that instant,” she assured him. “I can’t speak for the one, but I know Sheikh Wasam would have treated you kindly. It wouldn’t have been a burden to become one of his harem.” She paused for a breath and Jared thought he caught a faint flush staining her olive complexion as she mentioned the sheikh by name. He tucked that bit of knowledge aside for later. “I suspect our Sheikh did what he did to punish you. He hurt you like you must have hurt him,” she deduced. “If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have bothered. There are strong feelings there.”

“There are most assuredly strong feelings simmering there, but not the kind you believe. I think you have your head in the clouds,” Jared replied. “You aren’t seeing things as they truly are.”

“And you didn’t see the way he stormed into the courtyard as you were being punished,” she retorted. “He came in like an angry djinn, black robes flowing , as he tore the cane from Wisdom’s hand. He lost face by doing so, Jared. A sheikh should not have behaved so over the beating of a mere slave, especially the way he did in front of an audience. ”

Jared was having trouble following along. _Jensen had stopped the punishment?_ _He hadn’t been the one doling it out as Assaf had implied?_ He shook his head, trying to remember if the odalik had said as much or if he had assumed the meaning to his words and he cursed his hazy mind a second time. He should have never indulged in the drink. He groaned audibly and decided burying himself in the pillows was his best course of action.

As he lay back, he heard the other woman shuffle about, her movements accompanied by the clink of glassware. “I think you have had enough for tonight,” she said as she unwrapped Jared’s fingers from his glass, although Jared was uncertain if she were referring to the alcohol or the disclosures. “I shall have to keep this in mind the next time we drink,” she laughed as she helped him rise to his unsure feet. “You are too much of a giant for me to cart around easily.”

She settled Jared in bed, fluffing his pillows and adjusting the bedclothes. Before she left, however, he caught her wrist and opened his eyes. “He doesn’t love me any longer,” Jared told her, wanting her to understand that. “He couldn’t and I don’t blame him.” In the distance, someone began to pray. It was still a mournful sound to Jared, lonely like weeping.

She pat him on his arm even as she pulled up a silk sheet to cover him to his shoulders. “You can tell yourself that as much as you like. But it won’t make it anymore true, no matter how often you say it. I know what I saw,” she murmured, blowing out the lamp by his bed before leaving him to a sleep troubled by strange dreams where he tried to tell Jensen the truth only to have his voice stolen away time and again.

The next thing Jared knew, someone was shaking his arm. He tried to swat the offender away, but the tremors only grew more insistent.

“Jared, you must wake up,” someone urged him. He rolled away, rubbing his face against the smooth material of his pillow case, the faint whiff of roses a pleasant scent to get lost in. “Jared!” the insistent voice trilled.

Jared flopped onto his back and dragged his forearm across his eyes, still muddled in half-sleep. “What is it?” he rasped.

“The First Kadin is requesting an audience and I cannot put her off any longer. She will be here shortly and I need you up,” the annoying voice – Genevieve – urged him.

“All right, all right,” he mumbled as he pushed himself to a sitting position. He would have brushed the sleep from his eyes, but that conniving woman intercepted his hand before he was able to. He tried to scowl at her, but she only regarded him and laughed.

“With your hair sticking up every which way, you resemble a ruffled parrot more than anything else and I have no fear of those, Jared,” she teased him, helping him swing his legs over the side of the bed. “Go wash yourself and I will select something appropriate for you to wear.”

Jared allowed himself to be hustled towards the bath until the weight of her words sank in. “You put her off? How? Can I, as Favorite, refuse things now?” That bit of knowledge rapidly roused him awake.

With her firm hands planted against the small of his back, tenaciously herding him forward, she explained, “Not exactly. But you do have ranking and it affords you some courtesies. She was surprisingly more than understanding when I pleaded illness on your behalf and postponed her visit until today. Make no mistake, Jared,” she warned him, “this is as much an inspection as a visit.”

Jared had little opportunity to argue with the tiny woman. Instead, he concentrated on his morning ablutions. Genevieve had already drawn him a bath (he wondered what time that whirlwind rose every morning) and he cleaned himself thoroughly, although he still childishly avoided the jewelry and cage like that would make them somehow disappear from his person. He did crane his neck over his shoulder as far as possible and was gratified to see the strange markings were fading from his back. He would be glad when they were entirely gone and he could reclaim that part of himself as his own again. When he was done and drying himself off, he noticed that Genevieve must have slipped inside and placed clothing on a small stool for him to change into while he had been distracted. He frowned as he held up garments he had never seen before.

Lifting the silky items, Jared was struck by their color. It was a shade of blue reminiscent of the dye millers in Rode created for the former Queen, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, during a dressmaking contest of the last century. The top was sleeveless, but it had a high, almost prim, collar. The pants were similar to the ones he wore before the other sheikhs. They sat narrow and low on his hips, but ballooned out at the legs and were gathered tight at his ankles. There was also a pair of silver colored slippers. He shook his head, but short of walking out of the bath draped only in a small linen, he had no choice but to wear what Genevieve had left for him.

When he finally emerged, his long hair curling unruly against his chin and neck, he saw that Genevieve had been very busy in his absence. Near the small pool, which had rose petal scattered about the surface, a low, brass table had been set up with a tea service as had several small plates of various breakfast morsels. Large cushions were arranged around it for seating and the whole scene appeared impeccable.

 _Genevieve did say it was an inspection_ , he reminded himself. He noted his bed had been made up, neat and crisp as though no one had ever lain there and all evidence of his and Genevieve’s evening activities had been removed from sight. He stood there, shifting from one foot to another, feeling conspicuous and out of place. As he tried to tug down the shirt, which only barely met up with his pants and revealed more of his lean stomach and hips than he was comfortable with, he wondered what had become of the other woman.

“Here,” she called out, reading his mind.

Jared turned and saw that she had also changed into silks of the richest brown, like confectioners’ chocolate. The color suited her rather well, he thought, emphasizing the tone of her hair and eyes. She also had a few pieces of jewelry, all gold, on her wrists and ankles. Even as he was taking in her attire, she was returning the favor.

“Very good,” she said as she studied him from head to toe. “The color brings out the blue in your eyes.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed at them absently. “I am not so sure about the shirt,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be foolish,” she scolded him mockingly. “You have lovely limbs and should show them off. You should also show off your other adornments to your advantage.” Jared bristled at the covert mention of his piercings. “But I know you do not approve of them and chose your clothes accordingly. There is one thing, however, you still need to wear.”

She stepped over to a small bureau and carefully removed a flat, narrow case from the top drawer. When she returned, she opened the lid carefully and there Jared saw the diamond belt Jensen had gifted him with before he had him pose for another humiliation. It had been with grim satisfaction that Jared had used the belt to facilitate his escape and he thought to have never seen the thing again. But there it was, nestled innocently enough against a backdrop of black velvet, twinkling like the stars in the heavens. It appeared no worse for wear, the craftsmanship evidently excellent, given the state it was in when he’d last seen it.

“The Sheikh had it delivered while you were recovering,” Genevieve explained, holding the case up higher, “along with a few other items.” She saw his hesitation and pressed onward. “Jared, you are a Favorite and with that title comes some privileges. But you must also look the part to others. Please,” she urged and nudged it closer.

He took in an uneven breath, understanding the logic of her words even as he despised what he had to do. He plucked the belt up, fiddled around for the clasp and then draped it around his slim hips. Looking down at himself, he knew the other woman had selected his clothes and shoes with this in mind. The diamonds were lovely against the deep, blue silk and he hated the thing. A shiny collar was still a collar, he reminded himself, and this was nothing more than a mark of ownership. He held perfectly still as Genevieve made slight adjustments until declaring him ready.

He had little time to fuss or worry about his appearance as there was a firm knock on the main doors. Genevieve ushered him over to the table and motioned for him to sit down. As she returned to the main entrance, Jared wondered how the First Kadin would navigate the pillows with her hoop skirts without embarrassment. He quickly looked around for a high back chair, but no such stick of furniture like that was to be found within his chambers. He resisted the urge to chew on a thumbnail. He had no cause to be anxious. This was not his life.

He wouldn’t let it become his life.

“Welcome, First Kadin,” he heard Genevieve say quite clearly in English and he turned to view the other woman’s reaction. He suspected the choice of language was intentional and he knew he would never succeed in these kinds of games amongst the ton, regardless of what country they hailed from. What he saw stunned him.

No longer in the familiar clothes of home with voluminous skirts, demure collars and snug sleeves, the First Kadin was every inch a queen straight out of _The Arabian Nights' Entertainment_. Wrapped from head to toe in the finest silks of white trimmed in gold, she wore a gold headdress dotted with cabochon emeralds nearly as big as robins’ eggs. Her red mane tumbled about her shoulders in a fiery waterfall and her face was painted in sharp lines of kohl and ruby. She was stunning and Jared found himself nervously fiddling with his shirt in her presence.

As Genevieve escorted her over, Jared started to rise so as to greet her properly, but she waved her hands dismissively.

“Please stay seated, Jared,” she urged him in English and there seemed to be a moment of genuine concern that danced across her face as her eyes inevitably lowered to his slipper-clad feet. “Even though I had heard that you were well enough to begin exploring the Courtyard of the Gözdes yesterday, I understand that Richings has recommended that you keep your movements to a minimum for a few more days.” The solicitous looks she had been casting his way hardened into something else when she caught a glimpse of his jeweled belt. “However, you are free to come and go there as you please now.”

Unsure of how to respond, Jared was saved as Genevieve swooped in and deftly began to pour the tea and offer the woman the first choice amongst the foods available to break her fast. While Alaina delicately picked over the items, Jared cleared his throat.

“I want to thank for allowing me time to recover,” he said, “before coming to visit with me. I fear I would not have been pleasant company any sooner than today.”

Once again, that concerned, nearly guilty look flitted across her features and Jared didn’t know how to interpret it. Dabbing at her mouth delicately, she replied, “I am genuinely sorry for that unpleasantness, Jared. While you deserved a reprimand for your foolhardy venture, I would not have wished _that_ upon you.” She sipped at her tea before continuing, “But someone reminded me that there are rules we must all follow and eventually answer to. You are no exception.”

Jared ducked his head, uncertain how to proceed. He could only think that Jensen had been the one to prompt her. The silence was growing awkward. However, this time it was the First Kadin who rescued him. “I see not much has changed here,” she remarked, as she glanced about the room with knowing eyes. Jared’s surprise must have been written on his face. “Oh, yes. I was Favorite before I became the First Kadin, Jared, and this was all mine once.” She twisted about, a frown replacing her pleasant smirk. “That is odd,” she remarked, tapping a glossy nail against her perfect, blood-red lips.

“What is that?” Jared asked, looking around as well. He had no idea what might have been wrong. The room appeared perfectly in order to him.

“There used to be a rather large and decorative wardrobe along the wall where those bookcases are now,” she told him. “Whatever in the world happened to it?”

Jared had no idea what might have become of such an item, although he couldn’t deny that he wouldn’t miss what sounded like an intimidating monstrosity, remembering how they had been used in his father’s house.

“The Sheikh had it replaced with those bookcases,” Genevieve offered solicitously from where she stood off to the side, “almost as soon as the Favorite was established here.” Jared didn’t miss that she referred to him by his title and suspected it was more posturing on her part for the benefit of the First Kadin. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or uneasy about it.

Rising smoothly to her feet, Alaina glided over to the furniture in question and tilted her head, studying the titles in earnest. “I was going to say I would have Blake’s _Europe_ sent over, but,” and she paused, trailing her fingers over the spines slowly, “I think the Sheikh has made sure to keep you more than satisfied.” And she grinned lasciviously at Jared, who flushed at the double entendre. He was still reeling over the knowledge that Jensen had had the wardrobe removed, as though he had remembered what Jared had confessed to him on a rooftop so far from here. But that couldn’t have been it, he reminded himself. Or could it? And he was even more baffled by that idea. A morsel of kindness tossed his way after everything between them.

“I see that you are still coming to grips with your new situation,” Alaina cooed, breaking his reverie. She cast a baleful glare at Genevieve. “It is quite a lot to take in, but I am sure your attendant will help you muddle along as best she can. I do hope you won’t be disappointed with your selection.” And the First Kadin gathered herself, waiting. She did not have to wait long.

“I am certain that I will manage somehow,” Jared replied, drawing himself up to his full height. He might not know all the mores of the culture and he might very well be lackwitted when it came to manipulation, but Jared recognized an insult when he heard it. While he wasn’t bothered so much for himself, he wasn’t so willing to remain silent on Genevieve’s behalf. “With such a knowledgeable companion, one who understands the intricacies of the harem far better than I could ever hope to, I am confident I shall maneuver the course smoothly.” He waved his hand towards the door, indicating Alaina should leave.

For a brief instant, the other woman’s unflappable demeanor stuttered. But even that rare slip was gone in the blink of an eye. A slow, provocative smile graced her lips and she raised her hand to pet lightly at Jared’s face with what seemed like honest affection. “Oh, my dear boy,” she breathed near his ear, “you do have so much to learn, especially when it comes to matters of trust. I merely hope that you don’t grow to regret your decisions. One wrong misstep could be devastating.” And she slid her eyes in the other woman’s direction before returning them to Jared.

“I have had a delightful morning,” she said more loudly for Genevieve’s benefit, “and learned so very much.” Her gaze dropped to his waist briefly. “So very much indeed.”

Genevieve escorted Alaina the rest of the way while Jared stood and pondered her words. Between what Genevieve had spoken of the previous night and the way the First Kadin had treated him, he didn’t know what to think. Coupled with Jensen’s potentially sentimental overtures and he was near dizzy over it all. And, once again, his visage hid nothing. Genevieve returned to his side, scrutinized him for a few heartbeats and made one of her sweeping decisions.

“Come with me,” she ordered him, practically dragging him from his chambers.

“Where are we going?” he muttered, but didn’t truly fight her on the matter.

“I told you that you need to be seen as the Favorite. I think a short walk through the Courtyard of the Concubines is in order while you look so beautiful,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Jared blushed and ducked his head. “I am not beautiful. Women are beautiful, men are handsome,” he corrected her. “And I am not that.”

She pulled him along, nodding to the occasional guard they passed. “You may be handsome,” she stumbled on the word, “but you are most definitely beautiful. Long lines, fine muscles and that blue does bring out the color of your eyes,” she giggled at the end and Jared didn’t know if she had been teasing all along or not.

That thought alone sobered him up. With the ambiguous threat of the Kadin’s circling around his head, he understood he knew very little about the wisp of a girl walking beside him. What if he _had_ chosen poorly? What if he should have picked Assaf, who had been helpful, sympathetic even, to him upon his arrival? And most distressing of all, when had he begun to contemplate surviving here instead of searching for a means to return home?

As they approached the drapes that cordoned off the common courtyard, Genevieve stopped him abruptly. “We won’t linger, simply make a leisurely pass around once. Let them see you, Jared, and the trappings of your station.”

When he made to disagree, she shushed him. “There is value in what you have now, but part of that value only comes if people believe you actually have it and respect you for it, no matter how unwilling that respect is. You may need one of them,” she continued softly, “to help you in some way, but you will need them to know you are now in a position to offer them something in return for that aid.”

He bobbed his head slowly, appreciating everything she was and wasn’t saying. If he was to successfully escape, he might very well have to rely on the assistance of others. “I’m ready,” he told her, hunching his shoulders.

She ran her knuckles viciously along the knobs of his spine and he straightened involuntarily. She smirked up at him and surveyed his improved stance. “Now you are.”

Upon entering the courtyard, all eyes travelled to them. Jared tried his best not to flinch as they walked along the area where he had been made a public spectacle, ignoring the stark black and white tiles. He noticed that some of the concubines attempted to smile at him who had never done so before. He acknowledged them but made no other overture towards them. Others, however, watched him covertly with nothing kind in their eyes. He had expected no less, but it still chilled him. He might have “value” as Genevieve called it, but he suspected that value came at a high cost.

Seeming to sense he had had enough, Genevieve said rather distinctly, “We should retire to the Courtyard of the Gözdes, I think. It is so much more pleasant there.” And she led him away from the stares of the others. He gratefully moved the curtains and was momentarily surprised to see Assaf on the other side. He had his hands full with a tray full of mezze and two eunuchs behind him were similarly laden. He smiled genially enough at Jared, but the young Englishman noticed that the other man’s gaze drifted down for a heartbeat and Jared found his hand coming to rest at his waist almost protectively. He nodded to the odalik and proceeded to walk past him, with Genevieve at his side.

He was loath to admit it, but he didn’t breathe easier until they entered their courtyard. Jared purposely kept his attentions on the plants and flowers and decidedly not the terrace which overlooked everything, including him. He flopped down rather ungraciously and Genevieve joined him.

“That went rather well,” she admitted. “You’ve appeared before both the First Kadin and the entire harem as the Favorite. That is no small feat, Jared,” she consoled him, placing her small hand on his bare forearm. He smiled at her, but it was a weak thing.

“Tell me about where you came from,” she said like a bolt out of the blue. “Are the flowers the same?”

The change in topic left him unsettled, but he proceeded to talk about the roses in his mother’s garden, the trees near the stream that cut through their property and other recollections. The effect was two-fold. His nerves settled from their promenade before the concubines, but left him a touch melancholy. He suspected the woman had been hoping for the former effect but not the latter. “If I had paper and charcoal,” he finally told her, attempting to sound cheerful, “I could show you so much of where I came from.”

“You can draw?” she asked. “That’s wonderful!” And she clapped her hands like he had performed some trick for her amusement. “And here I thought I would have to teach you so many skills when you already have some hidden away. What else can you do besides that and cheat at chess?”

He shook his head and huffed out a laugh. “I am afraid I have no other cards up my sleeve. In point of fact, I don’t even have any sleeves to hide something in.” And he held out his bare arms, flexing them this way and that, and started to laugh. Genevieve tilted her head curiously before she gave into to Jared’s infectious chortles, even if she didn’t grasp the jest, and joined in. Her smile grew and she suddenly placed a finger on each side of his face.

“Ghamazat,” she giggled, poking him in his dimples. And Jared was thrown back to when Bashir told him his little sister had them and had then proceeded to call him “Dimples” for the remainder of their time together – a time that was brutally cut short by unexpected violence. Suddenly, his cheery mood melted away like morning dew.

Casting the briefest of looks over his shoulder as he watched Assaf pass by the perimeter with an armful of linens, he stood and pulled Genevieve to her feet. “I think I am tired,” he told her, only half truthfully.

“Then we should retire to your rooms,” she agreed, keeping her hand in his and they left like that. Jared never once looked back, and he told himself that was for the best.

They spent the rest of the day ensconced in their apartments. Genevieve had tried to coax him into sharing more tales about England, but he had declined each attempt. Finally resigned to the quiet, each of them had selected a book to read for the evening. She had chosen _The Historie of the World_ by Sir Walter Raleigh. It was an excellent tome on the ancient civilizations of Greece and Rome, although Jared found it strangely apropos to their situation that she would pick a book written by an imprisoned man who never got the opportunity to write any subsequent parts because he was beheaded first. For his choice, Jared lost himself in Poe’s _The Fall of the House of Usher_. He had read Roderick’s sad tale before, but there was comfort in the known. And he craved something familiar.

The next morning, while they both ate a leisurely breakfast, they were surprised by the appearance of the odalik, with the chief of the eunuchs in tow. Assaf apologized profusely for the interruption and then motioned for Worthy to step forward. The Kızlar Ağası had a large but relatively flat bundle in his arms that he presented to Jared. Both men stood back as the Englishman carefully opened the package to reveal not only a blank journal, but several sketch pads, pencils (not his German ones, reaffirming in Jared’s mind that his possessions had been destroyed), various sized bits of charcoal and a small case that contained a collection of dip pens and inks.

Amazed, Jared couldn't help but to ask, “Where did these come from?”

Before Assaf could reply, Worthy spoke out in his deep baritone, “From the Sheikh for your pleasure.” Jared was once again reminded that the Chief had earlier revealed himself to be fluent in English. He dipped his head in acknowledgement, which the big man mirrored. As they were leaving, he hastily added in a low voice, “Give him my thanks.” Worthy nodded a second time and they departed.

He spread out the items on a table Genevieve had dragged over, fingering them almost reverently. It wasn't exactly a piece of himself that Jensen had returned, but it was a near thing. Genevieve admired the instruments.

“Those are very fine items,” she remarked.

“Did you mention my desire to have them to someone?” he couldn't help but ask.

“And how would I have done that when I’ve been with you the entire time?” she quipped.

Jared pursed his lips. Jensen had heard them then, when they'd spoken in the garden. Anything he wished to remain a secret between himself and Genevieve would have to be spoken about only within their apartment walls, he slowly realized. There were ears everywhere, too, it appeared.

“He was listening,” she surmised, “and gave you what you wished for, like a courting lover.” Jared scowled at her choice of words.

“I hardly think so,” he corrected her. “He has no need to woo me. I have no choice here.”

The tiny woman frowned but didn't pursue the matter. Instead she turned his focus to the supplies and enticed him back out into their courtyard to practice.

They spent several days doing nothing more than drawing (he had gifted her with a portrait of herself on the second day, which delighted her so much he was certain her squeals were heard all the way back to England), reading and even writing. A small desk had been delivered the day after the pens and pencils had arrived and Jared began to make small notations for himself again, jotting down various scraps of information from Genevieve about the culture, stories she recounted regarding local legends and what not. He shied away, however, from writing anything of a more personal nature. There were still no locks on his doors and he couldn't quite bring himself to trust his innermost thoughts with anyone but himself.

He was nearly lulled into a sort of routine and that very fact shocked him out of it. He was growing complacent and that terrified him. The day that realization struck, his mood darkened and although he accompanied Genevieve to their garden, he did so empty handed. She tried to tease and cajole him, but he refused to be lifted from his melancholy. That night, they shared no reminiscences and retired early.

The following day might have shaped up the same way had not someone knocked on their door not long after the Fajr had finished. No one had ever come calling that early and both Jared and Genevieve hurried to answer, although Jared was still half-asleep. Both Worthy and Wisdom were standing at his threshold, appearing every inch their formidable selves.

“The Sheikh demands your presence,” Worthy told Jared.

“Now?” he rasped, voice still rough from sleep.

The Chief eyed him up and down before speaking with the barest hint of a smile. “I think he would prefer you make yourself presentable first. Dress yourself for the out of doors,” he instructed Jared before stepping back to stand beside Wisdom. “We shall wait here.”

Jared had no idea what to make of that and his heart began to pound in his chest. Genevieve, once again, shuffled him off to the bath to quickly perform his morning ablutions while she dashed about, collecting items for him to wear.

She chose carefully, selecting a slightly heavier woven sirwal and thobe. From somewhere, the woman managed to produce a pair of…not boots exactly, but something that offered his feet more protection than the open sandals he had been slapping around in. And they fit perfectly.

While he was tying them up, Genevieve placed a pure white kufiya on his head and bound it in place with a white and gold igal. When he finally stood, she helped him slip into a bisht, also of purest white. While he held still, she draped the material into place, lower lip sucked into her mouth and brow furrowed in concentration. None of that calmed his racing heart a whit. He had no idea what Jensen wanted and even less of an idea as to what to expect from the mercurial man.

Stepping back, his attendant finally smiled. “Perfect,” she declared and invited the guards back inside.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered to Jared before releasing him into their care.

As they marched through the harem, taking hallways and corridors Jared did not recall traversing before, his nerves wound tighter and tighter. More than once, a servant or a guard or even a concubine took notice of him and he decided he must have looked a right fool in his clothing, a pretender so far from home.

After a brief, but thoroughly humiliating, stop in the guard room he had first been dragged through those long weeks ago, Jared was escorted out of the harem sans his chastity device. The relief and physical comfort of being free in that respect warred with his faded memories of the last time he had been thusly unencumbered. He shivered and drew folds of his bisht tighter about himself. By the time the small party stepped outside, Jared was cursing himself ten times a fool for not paying closer attention to the path. But he was overcome with the knowledge that he was actually outside the main palace. Certainly there were still walls in place, but they were farther afield. He chanced a glance upward, taking in the vast, rolling expanse of cornflower blue, the sun barely above the horizon and the actual chill in the air.

Wisdom nudged him forward, and Jared was unsure if it was amusement or understanding that graced his normally stoic features. He proceeded along as he was wordlessly bidden and eventually, the familiar smell of hay and horseflesh assailed his sense. His eyes fluttered shut briefly as he enjoyed the moment, however fleeting it might have been. That misconception was partially to blame when he realized, shockingly, that he was being directed to enter the structure that had to have been the stables.

Jensen wanted him here?

As the men urged him along, he passed by a group of stalls that housed the camels. He paused by one, slightly smaller than the others. She stood out because of her creamy, nearly white hide and shocking tuft of dark hair that stuck up between her ears. She snuffled at him and he couldn’t help but reach out to stroke her nose, which she seemed to tolerate patiently. Although he wasn’t certain, he believed she was the camel that had carried him back after the storm.

“Aroob likes you,” came a gravel-rough voice. “She doesn’t allow many to touch her so.”

Jared whirled about to see Jensen standing at the end of the stalls. Unlike himself, Jensen was clad head to foot in ebony robes. Only his pale face, half-hidden by his ginger-blond beard, and his strong hands were visible. His deep green eyes bore into him and Jared unwillingly trembled, gathering his robes closer. Jensen’s steely gaze traveled up and down his body and Jared couldn’t help but wonder what he might be thinking. And he marveled at himself that he actually cared.

Whether Jensen was able to read the uncertainty that lay in Jared’s heart or not, the man grunted towards the eunuchs. Worthy hesitated briefly, but bowed and left with the equally dour Wisdom. “Come with me, Jared,” he said firmly, extending his hand.

Jared tried his best to carry himself stoically as he walked through the stables, but his mouth dried and his heart thundered. He barely took any notice of the fine beasts they passed and would have kept walking if Jensen hadn’t reached out to capture his wrist.

Despite his best efforts to appear unmoved by the older man’s presence, the touch startled him badly. He flinched and it almost seemed that Jensen was as affected, for he abruptly released his hold and snatched his hand back.

“This is Shaitan,” he announced and indicated the stunning, black stallion they had stopped in front of.

“He-he is just as you described,” Jared murmured when he found his voice. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he swore he heard its dry clicks when he spoke.

“And that is Alya,” he said as he pointed to the next stall.

Uncertain what to do, Jared shifted closer to the other horse. The mare – one glance at her hind end confirmed her sex – was a hand or so shorter than the black stallion. Her white coat had splashes of red along her neck and shoulders.

“She has freckles,” he blurt out unthinkingly as he traced the spots of colors with his long fingers. She huffed at him, but held still under his touch. “They’re lovely.”

Jensen coughed loudly, clearing his throat. “She’s yours.” Jared spun around, his robes rising up like a soft cloud. “For this morning,” he added. “I thought we should take a ride before it grows too hot.”

With that, he turned and opened the stall door. Shaitan’s tack was already in place, although Jared watched as Jensen ran his hands along the leather saddle and straps, verifying that everything was properly fastened. As he studied the way those capable hands moved over the sleek hide, he shivered at the sense memory of the rough pads of those same fingers on his own sides.

Jensen twisted his head around and raised a curved brow. “Well?” he asked and Jared couldn’t decide if the man was angry or amused.

He opened Alya’s stall and led the girl out. She was also ready to ride.

As Jensen swung himself effortlessly into the saddle, he added, “You might want to –”

“Tighten her girth,” Jared finished, chuckling. “You like to hold your breath, don’t you?” A tight girth was necessary to keep the saddle in place, but some wily horses preferred to keep it loose, like the belt of a man after a banquet. It was simply more comfortable for them. Holding their breath was one way for the animals to trick a rider into believing the fit was snug, only to find out later, usually as they picked themselves up from the ground, the saddle could slip about.

Although not ideal riding boots, the shoes Genevieve had found for him were good enough and after he hooked a foot into the stirrup, he hoisted himself up easily enough. He was still smiling from the little lady’s tricks when he noticed that Jensen was staring at him intently. Jared’s face smoothed out and he worried what he had done incorrectly to illicit such a look. He lowered his eyes demurely and fiddled with the reins, shifting them from one hand to another.

“Stay by my side, Jared,” Jensen rasped gruffly and Jared looked back up in time to see Jensen wheeling his stallion about and start to trot out of the stables. He wasn’t sure what to make of the man’s tone. He had almost sounded pained, which was a ridiculous notion and he chastised himself for his odd flights of fancy.

He clicked his tongue and gave Alya a nudge to her side and he easily caught up with Jensen. They rode abreast, silently keeping their thoughts to themselves until they approached the main gates to the city. Jared had some memory of them, sick and dizzy as he had been. The clang of them closing shut still featured in some of his more troubling dreams. The guards stationed there gave him a stern look, but they obeyed their sheikh without question and the two rode out without issue. Jared couldn’t help but to gaze about, now that there were no walls around him, only the golden stretch of the Al-Ramlah. It was a prison of a different sort, but a prison nonetheless. Before he could even bring himself to ask Jensen where they were going, the other man snatched up Jared’s reins and held them fast.

“I thought we would put them through their paces before the sun rose too high and the heat became too much,” he explained. “But do not think to run, Jared. Don’t run.”

He was sure the words were meant to be an obvious threat, but there was that odd tone again, making them sound more like a plea than anything else.

Jared twisted in the saddle, making a show of looking from one side to the other. “And where would I run to?” he asked without rancor. “Where could I possibly go?” He had half-hoped the words would please the other man, letting him know he’d bested Jared. But Jensen surprised him by handing back the reins and turning away abruptly, refusing to meet his scrutiny.

Jensen must have then signaled his horse, because they burst into motion like a black blur and raced across the sand as one being. Jared reined in Alya, who had startled by their rapid departure, and picked up her legs angrily. When the mare was once again under his control, Jared couldn’t help but get swept away in the moment. He leaned forward in the saddle and pressed against her sides. “Let’s fly,” he urged her and they shot off after Jensen and Shaitan.

The familiar roll and rhythm of the beast’s gait was a soothing balm to his battered soul and he felt exhilaration thrumming inside of him for the first time in too long. They slowly closed the distance between them and Jensen and he smiled at the touch of the sun and wind against his face.

For a moment, he forgot the invisible walls that always surrounded him.

For a moment, he forgot everything.

For a moment, he was free.

 


	25. Chapter 25

_ _

Jared was gone.

Almost as soon as they had returned, their horses barely showing the first hints of exhaustion, the Kızlar Ağası and Wisdom had whisked him back into the depths of the palace. There was little Jensen could overtly do about that, since he had no plans to take Jared back to his bed and that would have been the sole thing that would have spared him his hasty return. He could have kept Jared by his side, only to talk, but he suspected that the boy would not have the kindest of memories about that room. Even Jensen’s were a muddle of anger and dark desire when he thought back to that night, which was more often than he was wont to admit. So he had let Jared go with a jerk of his chin and a promise to see him again soon. The queer blankness that promise garnered was not something Jensen could easily decipher. Then again, very few of the expressions Jared had graced him with of late had been readable, save one. There had been no denying the absolute joy on his face while they had ridden. Jensen realized, after seeing the dimples he so adored long ago visible once again, he would do much to keep them in place.

He absently curried his stallion with Alya waiting impatiently for her turn. Jared had offered to help, but his escorts didn’t truly give him the option of lingering. Brushing the horse’s flank, he reminisced about their brief foray. Jensen still had difficulty reconciling how… _beautiful_ …Jared had appeared in his bisht and kufiya. Wrapped from head to toe in pristine white, the lad had resembled a bride on his wedding day. His time spent under the Qatari sun in the Favorite’s Courtyard was showing, with pale skin giving way to warmer hues. The choice of attire had made his skin even more golden in Jensen’s eyes. And that made him recall the many times he had observed, like some peeping Tom from behind his curtains, as Genevieve had placed her hands on his boy’s skin, smoothing oils and other ointments on his exposed person to enhance and protect it. Even as Shaitan pawed the ground in spoiled frustration at Jensen’s haphazard grooming, he ground his teeth together until they nearly creaked at the memory of those tiny hands on Jared. He had little patience seeing others touch his boy.

“Sorry, boy,” he pat the stallion’s side after the beast nearly stomped on his foot. “You are right. I should keep my mind on the task at hand.”

That was easier said than done, however, as he found himself revisiting their morning together over and over again. After the caning, he had wanted to give something back to Jared. There was no immediate solution to the chastity devices the concubines all wore. Short of keeping all of them locked in their rooms with a guard stationed by each one, there was no way to prevent some of the scenarios that Alaina had laid out from potentially occurring. And he would not see a single concubine punished, let alone lose their life, because of another oversight on his part. Jared had already paid too great a price for that mistake and it was all on Jensen’s shoulders.

He exhaled roughly and rested his head against the horse’s warm belly, breathing in the slightly pungent, yet so very comforting smell of his sweat. He had been deathly serious when he’d commanded Jared to stay by his side and practically begging when he’d implored the boy not to run. It had been his greatest fear that his humble efforts at a peace offering would have gone horribly awry if Jared had attempted another escape. Although the boy had been unawares, Nasih and his men had been trailing them the entire time they were away from the palace and Jensen knew his second would waste no time dragging Jared back and inflicting an even greater punishment for a second try at flight. Jared’s capitulation, however, had been a painful thing to witness. His defeat and morose acceptance of his situation no longer held any gratification for Jensen. And that, too, was something that troubled the sheikh.

The whole reason for keeping Jared within the harem had been one of punishment and humiliation. And the young man had been the absolute picture of conquest. Jensen should have exulted in the moment, but he found himself unable to do so. If he was no longer satisfied with the results of his actions, what course did he have left to take? What exactly was he going to do with Jared going forward? The storm had been a harsh blast of ice water in his face. He could no longer deny that he still held Jared in some regard despite what the boy had done to him. And seeing him bound and beaten had solidified those feelings. He couldn’t just leave Jared to that fate, unprotected. The rushed elevation to Favorite had afforded the lad some comforts and set him apart from the other concubines. But Jensen was still studying the intricacies of the harem, still learning the ropes like a green midshipman on his maiden voyage. He was trying to be more thorough and meticulous in his actions, though he bridled at the slow pace with which he was advancing.

He had come up with the idea of the morn’s outing mainly as a temporary solution to the enforced chastity. From what he now understood, Jared would only be free of it in his presence and although he couldn’t deny a black part of him still yearned to get the lad in his bed, would always yearn for that, he knew it would only compound their problems. The ride with the horses was also meant to be an olive branch, much like the writing and drawing implements he had sent to Jared’s rooms.

When he heard Jared’s words float up mentioning drawing to the lovely Genevieve, he had drifted back over to his desk and found himself unlocking the lowest drawer. He hadn’t opened it to remove or touch anything, aside from a moment of mawkish weakness before the storm, since the night Jared had been delivered to him and he’d stashed the boy’s belongings out of sight. He withdrew the engraved, metal case and examined the contents within, ignoring the winking gold pocket watch that seemed to taunt him where it rested atop Jared’s worn journal. He fingered the instruments inside and decided that giving Jared the case back was an impossibility. He couldn’t present the younger man with those words a second time, even if Jared still didn’t know for certain what they meant. The older man wouldn’t give over his heart like that again. But, as he selected a pen and held it between his fingers as Jared must have done countless times before, he decided he could give him something similar. He had snapped the case shut and tucked it back into the drawer, along with Collins’ daguerreotype almost as an afterthought, as he began to formulate a list of items he would have brought to Jared.

Like a thief in the night, he had lurked around the terrace every time Jared had visited the garden with his companion. With a mixture of jealousy and something akin to happiness, he had watched Jared’s nimble fingers dance across his tablets and admired the way the lad transformed the plain paper into accurate renderings of the various plants. And he was inordinately pleased that Jared seemed to most enjoy studying his mother’s roses and recreating them in exacting detail. He had to admit he could have done without the ear-splitting shriek Genevieve had released when Jared had given her a portrait. She had held it up at different angles and argued repeatedly with the boy that he must have taken some artistic liberties because she couldn’t possibly be that pretty. He’d nearly bitten his tongue to keep quiet and not reveal his presence (although after the gift of the pens, he understood Jared had to have known he was there) by shouting at the girl to remain silent. It was clear she was vying for more compliments and Jared was too naïve to recognize that, because he continued to assure her that he actually hadn’t done her enough justice with the drawing. Then, one day, he had come to the gardens emptyhanded and sad. Jensen would have gladly rewarded Genevieve with whatever jewel she wished for if she could have made him smile, but the boy mostly ignored her and stared off into nothingness.

That evening he came up with the idea of the horses. He had had Richings brought over immediately, raising a few concerned eyebrows until he assured his staff he himself was quite well. The doctor, true to his Oath, remained tight-lipped regarding the specifics of Jared’s injuries and treatments, but was willing to tell Jensen that Jared was recovered enough for a short trip on horseback. The deathly thin man had gone so far as to imply that such an outing would most likely boost the boy’s spirits as well as improve his general disposition. Jensen dismissed him soon after. Something of the older man’s steady, nearly unblinking, gaze unnerved him, as if the doctor could see right down to his very soul. And Jensen wasn’t sure his soul could stand up to the scrutiny. He feared he would be found wanting.

So, a strange pattern developed over the course of the next, few weeks. Jensen would summon Jared to the stables nearly every morning, while the desert was still cool and coming to life, and they put the horses through their paces. Neither man spoke much beyond the necessary. He didn’t know of a way to apologize for the canning disaster, though he desperately wanted to, so he kept his lips sealed instead. And Jared was equally as silent. Jensen sincerely hoped the lad’s reticence wasn’t out of fear, but he still saw in his mind’s eye the way that Jared had recoiled from him after his punishment. That featured as prominently in his dreams as did the way Jared had looked when he’d come undone under Jensen’s hands. He wasn’t sure which memory tortured his sleep more.

Both embraced the excuse of the exercise and noise from the horses; neither of them even tried to speak to the other, content in their apparent truce. It was an odd time, what Dr. Jackson might have used as an example of “suspended animation” in his thesis. Like those poor souls the Royal Humane Society dredged from the river Thames, dead in appearance, but able to be resuscitated with the proper technique, he and Jared were living but not. Together but not. And Jensen was uncertain how to tread forward and that uncertainty blistered him. Indecision was not his way. Although it would be painful and awkward, he found himself wanting to talk to the lad again. To have him near and yet so very distant chafed. But his boy held fast to the promise he had made after the storm and refused any overture on Jensen’s part for a more meaningful discourse. And their situation was such that there was precious little time between them to be alone, where Jensen believed he could coax Jared into speaking from the heart the way he used to. There was always something in their way and he wracked his brain for a means to rectify that very issue.

He settled on the notion of a short trip – a tournée to the very edge of his sheikhdom. That would take them to the eastern coast, where they could spend a few days by the ocean. Perhaps in more neutral territory, Jared might abandon his moratorium of silence, might give in to Jensen’s desires without so many eyes resting upon him. Once he’d decided, the planning was fairly simple. There was only one stumbling block in his path – Alaina. He couldn’t very well abscond with one of the concubines without her knowledge (he refused to think of it as “permission”). Jensen made all of the other arrangements, saving her for last.

That evening, he sent word round that he desired an audience with her. She ceded to his wishes easily enough and invited him to her apartments for a drink and some light snacks. When he arrived via the secret hallway that connected their rooms, he noticed that Jake was nowhere in sight. While that would make some of what he was going to say easier, he wondered if his absence was a sign that Alaina had hoped their meeting was of a more personal nature. The glow from the many candles and lamps that filled the sitting room did little to dispel that notion. Soft music drifted in from another chamber, also pointing to her hopes that this visit might be a romantic assignation. Her hawk was hooded and silent on his block. Jensen adjusted his dark thobe and called out, “Alaina?” before making himself comfortable on the cushions surrounding the ready food and drinks.

“I am honored,” he heard her say as she entered the room. Dressed in creamy pale silks, the candlelight left little to the imagination as to what she wasn’t wearing beneath them. Her hair, unbound, cascaded softly over her bare shoulders. Her usually sea-green eyes glittered stormy and dark in the flickering light. As she stepped nearer, the scent of oudh was unmistakable. The woodsy aroma was offset by the jasmine she must have mixed in as well, but the fragrance reminded him too much of his mother to ever appreciate it on her. She picked up a fat, liquor bottle and poured out a drink for him and herself and Jensen suspected the more than occasional brush of her firm breast against his arm as she did so was anything but accidental. He shifted uncomfortably, wishing for the evening to be done with already.

As she reclined provocatively on a group of cushions, Alaina savored her snifter and swirled the dark liquid methodically. “What do I owe this singular honor, Sheikh? It isn’t very often that you grace my humble abode at this hour. In fact, I do believe this is a first,” she nearly purred. All that was missing from the scene was the lazy flick of a feline tail.

“I wanted to inform you that I shall be leaving on the morrow for several days,’ he said evenly, before tasting the beverage, enjoying the warm, mellow flavor. “Brandy?” he asked as he set down the distinctive, rounded glass.

“Cognac,” she replied. “Where are you going?”

“I plan to travel along the perimeter of our borders, along the eastern coast,” he told her.

She perked up. “To Khawr al Udayd? The Bani Yas again?” There was genuine concern in her voice.

“No, much farther north of them,” he assured her, shaking his head. “I simply believe a small tour is in order.”

She resettled herself and grew contemplative. “That would probably be a wise idea. I don’t believe you’ve visited the farthest reaches of the sheikhdom since you assumed the mantle. And lately, you seem to be far too distracted by other matters, favoring a certain concubine over all else.”

He didn’t need Alaina’s approval and her tone rankled him. “Well, there is a reason he’s called the Favorite, after all. He’s _favored_.” And he retrieved his glass, raising it in a mock salute.

“True enough, Jensen,” she conceded, but tempered her defeat by the disrespectful use of his given name. “Back to matters at hand. I think this trip sounds like an excellent opportunity to take Jacob along with you. He should start to meet all the people who are under us, as well as learn the lay of the land. And I know he would most definitely enjoy spending time with you again. Since your current obsession has kept you so preoccupied, he’s sorely missed the outings you’d promised him.” She took another swallow of the cognac, not bothering to dab her lips when some of the golden liquid overly moistened them. The effect left her red mouth dark and glossy. And Jensen knew it was a calculated move. The First Kadin did nothing accidentally. Just as this was meant to make her appear more provocative, her words about his half-brother had been chosen to wound. She never said anything unintended.

“I will make it up to him when I return, but this is not a foray suitable for Jake. And that brings me to the other reason I am here,” he informed her.

“Not suitable for Jacob?” She raised delicately plucked eyebrows at that before her face hardened slightly. “There is someone else you’d rather accompany you, isn't there?” Her whole demeanor changed. Gone was the sultry temptress of a few minutes prior, replaced by the calculating First Kadin of the harem. Her posture solidified into something more rigid.

Seeing no reason to prevaricate, he simply replied, “Yes. I will be taking my Favorite with me. It's only as a courtesy, Alaina,” two could play as easily as one, “that I am informing you of this.” He watched as her hand tightened on her glass, the only outward sign of her vexation.

Tilting her head to one side, she snipped, “How kind of you!” and took another, long swallow of the rich liquor. Seeming to rein in her annoyance, she set her glass down on the low table that separated them and picked up one of the large, white blossoms that had been scattered in and about the plates of foodstuffs. The flower was as large as her hand, with five petals that were crimped shut. She idly twirled the thing in her hand as she continued on in a more thoughtful manner.

“Do you truly think this is a wise thing, Jensen?”

Jensen rooted around the brass table, searching for something to eat if only to give his hands something to do. He refused to overindulge in spirits whenever around her, fully recognizing the need to keep his guard up at all times. “And why wouldn't it be?” he finally said as he curled a piece of flatbread into the shape of a funnel and scooped up some tzatziki with it. The cucumber chunks were crisp and cooling. He tried to feign disinterest, because, really, who should care about his comings and goings?

Alaina was all seriousness, having packed away the seductress for the time being. “There have been whispers here and there, some saying that you are letting more important matters slide in _favor_ ,” she paused, the sarcastic emphasis of her word choice obvious in the extreme, “of following around a mere slave like you were a dog in heat.”

Jensen slammed his hand down on the brass table, nearly upending the bottle of cognac. As it was, several dishes rattled ominously and his glass fell to floor. The tinkle of shattering crystal was brittle in his ears. The music from the other room came to an abrupt halt. “You will not speak to me in such a manner, Alaina,” he threatened ominously.

“Those are not my words, Jensen, but ones that have been reported to me more often than not,” she hissed, giving back in equal measure and not bowing before him. “You would do well to remember that there are eyes everywhere, even on you. Especially on you.”

Still seething, he leaned back marginally into the pillows behind him. He found no comfort there and raked his hand through his uncovered locks. “All the better to get away, then,” he finally admitted, “if so many are concerned with my affairs.”

“Others are only concerned when your _affairs_ supersede those of the people you are responsible for,” she reminded him, dropping her eyes to the flower still in her hand.

Jensen had no quick retort to that. He had been a trifle lax about some of his duties, his thoughts mostly consumed by Jared. But there was nothing pressing; he'd dealt with the Bani Yas recently enough that he felt little guilt over his decisions. He wouldn't let Alaina dictate his actions, despite how much she clearly longed to.

“I’ll be leaving with him and a small contingent tomorrow morn, directly after dawn. Make sure he’s ready,” Jensen ordered her.

Still regarding the blossom in her hand, she continued on in a more subdued manner, “And what if he tries to run again?”

“He won't,” Jensen assured her. And while there was no way he could know that for certain, he did. He'd seen the loss in Jared’s eyes that first morning they'd spent together after the storm. His boy was done running.

“How can you be so sure? He's tried before. And he's run and been punished once already,” she nearly whispered, not meeting Jensen's scrutiny.

Letting out a huff, Jensen dragged his hand over his beard. “I know full well he's been punished already,” he snapped. Shaking his head, he let the woman’s words sink in. Narrowing his gaze, he suddenly needed clarification. “You said he ‘tried’. And _then_ you said he’d run. Are you implying that Jared ran before the storm?”

Alaina lowered her head.

“Alaina,” he insisted, his heart suddenly racing.

When she looked up, her eyes held no sympathy in them. “What do you think, Jensen? You threw him into the harem, stripped him of his belongings, stripped him of his family name. Did you think he was just going to sit about and idly pass his time with the others? Of course he tried to escape!”

“How do you know?” he demanded.

“Because he wasn't as clever as he thought when he tried to scale the walls to the roof. He was seen,” she answered.

“What happened?” Jensen asked, voice more subdued.

Alaina sighed and sunk against a maroon cushion. “He managed to climb along the railings of the dormitory and reach the roof.”

Jensen couldn't help but to recall Jared rapping on his dormer window and then scrambling along the roof shingles of his father’s home like a little monkey. He shouldn’t have been surprised. “And?”

“And nothing,” Alaina exhaled, her exasperation plain. “I believe the prospect of dropping barefoot into a copse of salam trees proved to be too much for the lad. He returned to his room and didn't try again.”

“And when was this?”

“The first week of his arrival. I suspect he was trying to make his way back to his ship. Once that had sailed, he didn't try again,” she said.

Jensen glanced away. It was logical. He would have done the same were he in the boy’s shoes ( _What_ _shoes?_ the voice mocked him. _You took everything away._ ). He fiddled with a fastening on his thobe. But there was a tight clench around his heart, like a fist was squeezing it mercilessly. Jared could have died or, at the very least, injured himself irreparably. And then there was the risk of punishment, if nothing else. Punishment. He cocked his head.

“Why wasn’t he punished then?” Jensen inquired slowly. Surely that should have earned the lad something unpleasant.

It was the First Kadin’s turn to be abashed. She cut her eyes to the side when she explained, “There was no escape, so there was no need to punish. Only I and one other knew of it, so I saw no reason to pursue the matter further.”

“Then why punish him the second time?” And Jensen was genuinely curious because it appeared that Alaina had no real stomach for the corporal discipline that had been doled out.

She tossed the flower onto the table. “Because, Jensen, that was seen by too many. Regardless of what I wanted,” and here she paused, catching herself, “As someone reminded me, despite how I might feel about them, there are rules in place. No one is immune. He broke them and thanks to your daring rescue, everyone knew of it. There was no way he couldn't be punished after that.” She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly.

“He won't run,” he finally repeated. He’d won. He'd beaten the boy. And none of this was a comfort to him.

“Very well,” Alaina agreed. “Assaf!”

Suddenly his childhood friend was scuttling into the room, a small shovel in one hand and a hand-held broom in the other. The odalik dropped to his knees and immediately began sweeping up the remains of Jensen’s broken glass as though he had only been waiting for the command so he could spring into action.

“Thank you,” Jensen breathed and gave him a small smile. Assaf glanced up, dark eyes shining, and returned it.

“Always,” he replied.

“Odalik,” Alaina chimed in, “please send word along to the Gözde that he is to be ready at dawn for a small excursion with the Sheikh.”

In the low lighting it was difficult to tell, but Jensen thought the other man’s eyes dimmed at the mention of Jared.

“As you wish, First Kadin,” he acknowledged with a dip of his head. “Is it for the day?”

At that, Alaina raised an eyebrow inquisitively at Jensen. “Sheikh?” she finally asked.

“Tell him it will be for several days,” Jensen decreed, enjoying Alaina’s obvious displeasure. He missed the dark look that flashed and faded like heat lightning across the other man’s face. “He will need to pack accordingly.”

“As you wish,” Assaf bowed and scooted out of the room. He paused near the trompe-l'œil painting of a bookcase before leaving through the concealed door.

“Since the business at hand has been concluded, I assume you’ll be leaving now,” Alaina snapped.

Jensen took in a deep breath and let it escape slowly. She was right. There was no further reason for him to linger. He was mildly curious who had informed her about Jared, but he supposed that made no difference now. “I could linger for a bit if Jake was available,” he offered.

“He’s not.” She reached down and picked up another white blossom, giving it her full attention as she spun it between her fingers.

Jensen should have expected nothing less. Since she was displeased with him, she wielded his half-brother’s company as a bargaining chip. He also knew, despite whatever ill feelings she harbored for him, she would eventually bend to whatever Jake wanted and he wouldn’t be deprived of his little brother for long. “Then, with your permission,” he dipped his head in a sign of respect, feeling generous since he had ultimately gotten his way, “I will take my leave of you.”

She laughed humorlessly. “As you wish, Jensen. But then again, you always do what you wish, don’t you, with little regard for anyone else?”

Jensen stood, hiding the ache he felt in his knees from the way he had been reclining. While the riding had been pleasurable enough with Jared, it also served as a reminder that he had grown soft since returning home, something he planned to rectify.

He lingered for a moment before reaching down and plucking up one of the large flowers she was so enamored of. Inspecting the large bloom, tipped in lavender, he breathed in the almost erotic fragrance. “What is this?” he asked.

“A little something from my garden. They only bloom at night,” she replied. When he scowled at her, she elaborated, “They are the genus Datura, from the Sanskrit meaning ‘white thorn apple’. Most commonly they’re known as the Devil’s Trumpet.” She inhaled deeply. “The blossoms are lovely but the leaves are rather stale smelling, so I don’t bother with them.”

“A somewhat ominous name for such a lovely thing,” he responded.

Alaina merely shrugged. “I suppose it earned it because they can be poisonous in the wrong hands.”

Jensen let the bloom fall back to the table. “Why in the world do you keep them?”

“Because they are lovely and I know what I am doing, Jensen. Many things in this world look pleasant but have a dark underbelly to them. You would do well to remember that.”

At that, Jensen left her presence as he had come, without a backward glance.

The next morning Jensen was finishing up the last of the inspections before their departure. Although he longed to take the horses, for the journey he had in mind, camels were a better choice as they were more suited to treks longer than a few days. Nasih and Qasim were amongst the six men that would accompany Jensen and Jared. Although he had exchanged a few sour words with his second, who believed the trip to be at best foolish and at worst wasteful, the other man would not budge on less than six for his protection. Jensen suspected that Nasih had decided on the number not because there was any imminent danger, but because the number would be more than enough to intimidate Jared and stymie any thoughts of escape the boy might have. Jensen might have argued the point but secretly decided that there was some merit in the strategy. He would rather Jared not entertain such thoughts, either, and the sheer number and size of the men would be a natural deterrent to them.

He led Aroob out of her stall, deciding that she should be Jared’s mount, tolerating him the most of all of them. No sooner had he done so than the eunuchs brought Jared into the stable. Dressed much as he always was for their morning rides, there was a certain hesitation in the boy’s step. He noted that Wisdom carried a small sack, presumably with Jared’s things for the trip, which he handed over to Qasim while Worthy led Jared to him. Up close, Jensen saw that there were dark rings under Jared’s eyes and he was paler than normal. All his planning meant nothing if Jared was ill and Jensen was more than ready to postpone if that were the case.

“Are you all right?” he asked abruptly, instead of offering his usual, perfunctory greetings.

Jared swallowed and bobbed his head, unable to answer.

“Jared,” he began again, softer this time, “are you sure you are feeling all right? We can go another time if that’s the case.” Standing off to one side, Nasih frowned bitterly at Jensen. His second did not appreciate the concern his sheikh was showing a mere slave. Jensen shot him a piercing glare in response and the other man turned away, ostensibly to finish packing gear.

“We might as well get this over with,” Jared mumbled, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Which one shall I be riding?”

Jensen stepped closer, placing his hand on the boy’s forearm. Jared startled badly. “What is it?” Jensen tried again.

Jared shook his head from side to side, but stayed quiet. Jensen decided that the lad must have been ill and was afraid to say so. “We’ll simply go another day,” he pronounced.

Jared looked up sharply. “Won’t your f-friend be disappointed?” he asked.

Jensen tilted his head. “What friend? What the devil are you talking about?”

“No need to lie, Sheikh. I am not some brainless child being told their beloved pet is going to spend their twilight years on a special farm instead of being put down. You and your men,” he glanced about, sneering at Nasih in particular, “are taking me to one of your sheikh neighbors to be rid of me.”

Jensen’s mouth was agape. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Ignoring Jensen’s surprised expression, Jared rambled on, obviously distressed. “Sending someone late last night to tell me to be ready to leave first thing on the morrow and to collect whatever meant anything to me in the sack they provided seemed to send a fairly clear message.

“I know you hate me,” he continued, too low for anyone other than Jensen to hear, “but I wish you would be honest with me in this. I can take it,” he finished, raising his head to meet Jensen eye-to-eye. He appeared strong and determined, save for the slight wobble to his jaw that betrayed his true feelings. Jensen should have been thrilled at the fear. He was nearly sick instead.

“I swear to you,” he spoke earnestly, “that is not what this is about.” Jared dropped his head and nodded, but Jensen knew the lad didn't believe him. “I swear,” he repeated, squeezing Jared’s forearm in what he hoped was interpreted as reassurance and not force. Jared nodded again and Jensen sighed.

“You and I both know actions speak louder than words,” he said, sharper than intended. Switching to Arabic, he addressed the other men. “You shall afford him the same respect you do me while we travel.” The other men murmured, none appearing too pleased, but voiced their agreement. Jared was startled and Jensen wondered just how much Arabic Jared had learned recently. He would need to keep that in mind for the future.

Other than some heated glares from Nasih, there was little issue preparing their leave. Jared’s sack was stored with the other supplies, shared between the two camels designated with pack detail. They had enough resources so they wouldn't need anything else along their journey, although Jensen hoped they might have some luck fishing once they reached the coast. He debated telling Jared about that, but thought the boy would probably doubt him. He suspected Jared wouldn't relax until they reached the coast, if then. This was not the way he had hoped to depart and wondered who would have misspoke to Jared so out of turn that the young man would think he was being taken away.

 _Hmm, being paraded about in front of men and being told that he was wanting might have helped set the stage for it,_ that badgering voice reminded him _._

Jensen cursed at himself and grumbled as he adjusted the saddle on his horse. Twisting his head around, he saw Jared, shifting from one foot to another, waiting next to Aroob. “She’s yours for the trip, Jared.” The lad seemed suddenly grateful.

“There’s no covered saddle for me?” he asked.

Jensen tried to smile. “I wouldn't do that to you, Jared.” And he meant it. He wouldn’t see Jared boxed in ever again.

The young Englishman ducked his head, but not before Jensen spotted the tiniest upturn of lips on his sculpted face.

Jared walked around the camel, examining the saddle, but making no adjustments like he might have with Alya. Finally, he stopped by her face and stroked her snout with his slender fingers. She stood there patiently while he spoke gently to her. Then he regarded her for a moment before smiling – not his dimpled grin, but at least it was something close – and then said, “Thank you.”

Aroob snuffled and chewed her cud.

Unable to resist, Jensen found himself asking, “What did you thank her for?”

Turning around, the shadow of a smile still fixed on his face, Jared answered, “I asked her if she had any plans to spit on me and when she didn’t, I thanked her. The last time I went out on a trip, the ‘kitten’ I was riding did just that and the trip,” here he paused and that phantom grin faded away, “didn’t end well for me.” He went back to fingering the camel’s reins.

It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize, but Jensen knew it would mean nothing to Jared. It wouldn't change what had happened, nor would Jensen actually mean it. That was terrible, but true enough. And even more so, Jensen was growing to understand that he didn't want to let the boy go. For the briefest instant, he thought that this might have been how his father had felt about his mother. He shivered, blaming it on the dawn’s chill, rather than someone walking over his grave or, mayhap, his father’s spirit brushing past him. “Are you ready?” he finally asked.

Rather than answer verbally, Jared clicked his tongue much the way he must have heard Jensen do it when they departed from their cave. Aroob folded up and settled on the stable floor and Jared expertly hoisted himself into position, locking his leg correctly in place. He clicked again and Aroob accommodated him by regaining her feet. He jerked his chin at Jensen.

Doing the same, he and the other men mounted up. Without saying a word, Jared drove Aroob up alongside of Jensen’s mount. Nasih took point, while the others formed a train behind them. Jared’s color wasn't much improved, but at least he’d lost the deathly pallor of a few minutes ago. That was probably all that Jensen could hope for until they arrived at the sea, where he hoped the salt air might restore some of his spirit.

Jensen calculated that it would take a little under a day and a half to reach the coast. He expected this first day to be hard on Jared, who was not used to a full day in the saddle and he was not mistaken. For the most part, Jared had silently bore up against the challenge, although the older man had caught the lad more than once almost overwhelmed with the vast spaces around him. And he couldn’t deny even he breathed easier without the walls that were always around, but, once he learned of the concubines’ condition, knew his situation paled in comparison to those who never got to see more than a patch of sky overhead. He and Alaina were still butting heads over that, trying to find a way to add some openness to the seraglio while protecting the integrity of the harem. They had yet to agree on anything and he was not surprised, given the way that the First Kadin was entrenched in the old traditions.

When the sun finally dipped low in the sky, molten fire rippling across the sands in shades of tangerine and amber, Jensen called a halt for the night. His men quickly established a large lean-to surrounded by four others and broke out some foodstuffs. Nasih had stepped away and led the Maghrib prayer. Jensen’s second sang until the red light had left the sky in the west. Jensen found the notes soothing. Turning to study his boy, he noticed Jared’s faraway stare into the setting sun. He looked for so long and so steady that his eyes had begun to tear from it and Jensen worried for his health. He strode over and shook his shoulder.

“Here now,” he chided. “Don’t go undoing all of the doctor’s work.”

It seemed to take an inordinately long time for the lad to come back to himself and Jensen didn’t like that he’d drifted away like that, to someplace Jensen couldn’t reach him. “Sorry,” Jared eventually mumbled, brushing roughly against the wetness on his cheeks.

“Come,” Jensen ground out. “There’s food and drink. You should eat something since you only picked at your food when we broke at noon.” He led Jared over to the fire that Qasim had started and pointed to the platter of cheese, olives, flatbread and chicken that one of the other men had laid out for them.

Jared seated himself where Jensen indicated and the sheikh settled next to him. The other men ate near their shelters while taking turns patrolling the camp. No one was getting in and, more importantly to Jensen, no one was getting out, either. Jared poked listlessly at the tray, choosing to drink water instead of eating.

“What’s the matter?” Jensen demanded. He was secretly concerned that something was wrong, but his worry made him snappish. “Isn’t it good enough for you?” And he waved his hand at the platter.

“It is fine. I’m afraid the heat and the motion of the camel, which is too similar to the rocking of a boat for my liking, have just been more than I can handle today. I meant no disrespect,” he answered quietly.

Jensen picked up a smaller stick – leftover kindling – and pushed at the burning coals of the fire. The snap and hiss of the wood was the only sound in the desert. Even the air had stilled. Jensen turned the words over and over in his head. He understood that the rocking of a camel could make some ill and it was not unlike a ship. But if ships made him ill, why in the world had Jared gotten on one that took him all the way here? Unless George had gone through some cataclysmic metamorphosis, he couldn’t imagine the man easily letting Jared go on such a voyage; the boy would have had to have wheedled it out of the older man. But why put oneself through months of torture? If he didn’t know of this predilection beforehand, there would have been plenty of opportunities to leave the boat in the short time it would have taken to reach the French coast. He would have suffered no more than a week or two at most.

He was about to voice his questions when a long, low howl split the night air and Jared flinched at the sound. The low rumble of discussion from the other men picked up after the sound. Even they were rattled by the call of the animal and probably took it as a bad omen. When he looked back at Jared, he saw the other man wrap his bisht tighter about himself.

“That was no djinn, Jared,” he mocked the boy. “Nor do I suppose it was one of your beloved, Dickensian ghosts.” Jensen chuckled to himself as he recalled how much Jared loved that one, particular story. “I have to admit to some surprise,” he continued on conversationally and Jared flicked wary eyes towards him, “that you didn’t bring _A Christmas Carol_ with you, what with the way it never seemed to leave your side before.”

“I did bring it,” he offered quietly.

Jensen’s brows furrowed. He knew with absolute certainty that that red-bound book was not amongst Jared’s possessions. If one of his men had kept it against his wishes, there would be hell to pay. Inhaling deeply, he started to open his mouth when Jared continued in that same, small voice.

“But I gave it away to the man I was travelling with.”

Jensen was shocked. He knew how much the book meant to the lad. And part of that value came from the fact that his brother had gifted it to him when Jared was only eight. It was hard to fathom Jared just giving it away.

“Why would you do that?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Jared ducked his head and his kufiya fell forward, partially concealing his face from Jensen. For all that the trappings suited the boy, Jensen wished he could see his face more clearly. “Seemed fitting for a story that was about redemption and generosity of spirit to be gifted to a man as thanks for his many kindnesses.” Jared distractedly rubbed his fingers against his kufiya, lost in thought. Rousing himself, he added, “A wise man pointed out to me the hypocrisy that Dickens committed, writing such a moving tale about the plight of the less fortunate and binding it up in a package the destitute could never hope to afford. It made sense to give it to someone desperate to practice reading English with his family who might never have the chance otherwise.”

Jensen smirked. “You were only trying to redeem your beloved Dickens. Your love for that man knows no bounds,” he teased, slipping into the banter they used to share as easily as breathing. Jared shifted his head to the side, smiling slightly. A flush warmed his cheeks in soft pinks. But even as Jensen was enjoying the view, the word “redemption” echoed within his mind relentlessly. His grin slowly withered, his good humor replaced by an irrational rage.

“Is that why you came, Jared?” he demanded hotly, tossing the stick aside. “I can think of no rational reason for you to have ever set foot on my shores except for that. Did you think to come here as a supplicant and I would forgive everything you did? Did you believe that I could ever forget what you said?” he hissed lowly. “Because redemption is something that you shall never have.” His hands were balled into fists and he had twisted about to stare at the lad. When Jared flinched from him this time, he was untroubled by any pang of remorse.

When he had spat out “redemption”, Jared’s left hand had slipped down in almost a reflexive movement, as though he was seeking out an object at his waist but finding nothing. Even consumed by his anger, Jensen had noticed and thought it a strange reaction, all things considered.

“No,” the boy croaked, “I didn’t come here for redemption.” His gaze shifted back to the flames, unable – or unwilling – to meet Jensen’s glower. He picked up the stick Jensen had discarded and poked at a burning ember. “I came halfway around the world because I thought it was the only chance I would ever have to be close to a part of you one, final time.”

Jensen’s brow smoothed out and his mouth slipped open. That had been the last thing he had expected the young Englishman to say. He licked his lips and bobbed his head from side to side, searching for something to say to that. Jared’s hollow laugh stopped him.

Casting him a long, side-eyed stare, Jared rasped, “I never thought I would ever lay eyes upon you again. I guess the cosmic joke was on me, wasn’t it?” He snapped the twig into pieces and threw them into the fire. “May I be allowed to retire for the evening?” he asked, still facing the fire.

“You don’t need to ask my permission, Jared,” Jensen said gruffly.

“Don’t I?” he cocked his head to one side and then shrugged his shoulders as he stood. “Good night, Sheikh,” he bowed.

Jensen snatched at his wrist. “It is Jensen,” he told the boy.

Jared shook his head sadly. “It is probably for the best we don’t forget our place, forget who we are. You were right to remind me of that at our first reunion, Sheikh Ankour.”

Jared walked the short distance over to their lean-to and proceeded to curl up on his side, facing the tent hide, head pillowed on Aroob’s saddle, only pausing long enough to remove his kufiya and bisht. He shook the latter over himself like a blanket and didn’t move again.

Jensen brooded by the fire, ashamed that he continued to lose control over his emotions when around the boy. He was glad his men were far enough away not to have overheard them or seen his ungoverned behavior. Letting his head drop below his shoulders, he yanked off his headdress and igal, balling them up in one hand while he combed his fingers through his sweaty hair with the other. He didn’t know what to make of the fact that Jared had come so far only to catch a glimpse of his homeland for him. Logically, he knew that had to be the truth, for there was no way Jared could have ever tracked him on his own, given the narrow timeframe he had in Qatar. Had he really travelled around the globe to see some sand and think of Jensen? And why even bother, considering how Jared had driven him away that awful night? More pieces added to his dissection, and he had no idea what kind of map the final puzzle would reveal.

Weary in body and soul, Jensen rose, motioned his intentions to Nasih and retired to the lean-to he shared with Jared. One of the others had draped a bit of cloth down the middle, affording them the bare minimum of privacy from one another. Perhaps for tonight, that was for the best. He tossed his kufiya aside haphazardly and didn’t even bother removing his black bisht. He merely pulled the outer robe more tightly about himself and settled down on his back, so that he could look out in front of him and view the stars. But he couldn’t keep his mind off of the lad not four feet away from him, although separated from him by so much more than physical distance. Jensen wondered if he would ever understand him.

“Dream sweet, dear boy,” he whispered under his breath and meant it.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter once again gets the full NC-17 warning!

_ _

The next morning, Jensen was awake long before Qasim began the Fajr. His night had been fitful and nothing like what he had expected when he’d come up with his plan to slip away with Jared. He didn’t think Jared’s had been much better, because despite how quiet he had tried to be, the lad’s tossing about was evident in the bruised smudges still visible beneath his eyes as he clambered out from under the goat skin lean-to. Even in the barely there light of the predawn, as the sky bent low to kiss the earth with light, Jensen saw them. He liked to think he missed little with his boy, but he knew he was only lying to himself when he entertained such thoughts. He didn't know Jared now and he obviously hadn't known him back in England. Had he ever known any part of him? It was the question that drove him. He wouldn't rest until he had the answer. Mayhap it would free them both.

Crouching beside the fire, which the man on the last watch had dutifully started, Jensen clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously to warm them up. Always a place of extremes, the Al-Ramlah burned like hell on earth in the light and chilled to the bone in the darkness. Nasih had a large saj heating over the flames, getting ready to make some shraak. He had already laid out a half dozen hard-cooked eggs, olives and yogurt for them to break their fast. Accepting a cup of kahwa, Jensen sipped it with a sigh of contentment, needing its sharp bite to wake him up fully. Scanning the camp, he spotted Jared coming from the far side, probably returning from his morning ablutions. He was without his headdress and Jensen appreciated the way his long locks – longer than he had ever seen them before – framed his nearly elven face. As Jared neared the lean-to, Qasim walked by from the other direction and struck his shoulder against Jared, causing the younger man to stumble. Jensen was ready to rise to his feet and call the man out for his intentional slight, when Jared swiped at his thobe and regarded the scarred man closely before smirking.

“Eh? And I thought I only had to watch my _back_ around you,” he quipped in perfect Arabic. Qasim’s nostrils flared, but he kept mum. Jared made one more show of batting away non-existent dust before brushing past the man like he was nothing more than dust himself.

“There’s my boy,” Jensen muttered under his breath, a grin tugging at the corners of his full lips. Maybe he knew Jared a little after all.

By the time the younger man returned from the shelter, fully outfitted for the day, Jensen had selected a few, choice morsels for the lad to eat, food he was sure would be gentle on his stomach, and he thrust the dish before him as soon as Jared sat beside the fire.

“Eat some of this,” he told him gruffly. “I am not asking you to clean the plate, but if you don’t eat a little,” he continued more quietly, “you will make yourself ill. Please,” he added as he nudged the plate into the Englishman’s hands.

“Thank you,” he replied demurely.

“We don’t have far to go now,” he offered up. He had a feeling Jared wouldn't ask about their destination, probably still concerned it meant a new confinement for him. “We should be there before the Dhuhr.”

Jared said nothing, but dipped his head in mute acknowledgement. Whether it was because his appetite had returned, or if it was to humor Jensen, the lad ate most of the food Jensen had given him and that fact pleased the older man immensely.

His men broke down the camp after they were finished eating, efficient as always. Jared had made motions to aid them, but Jensen had said it wasn't his duty. The boy acquiesced, but remained quiet, the fire he'd shown Qasim only that morning apparently already smothered. He was torn, wanting to see some life to Jared and then, by equal turns, any spark of defiance riling him up. He'd never been so conflicted in his life and he blamed and pitied Jared in equal measure. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair, but it just was.

When Nasih signaled him that they were ready, he led Jared over to Aroob. They mounted up and headed into the rising sun. The only sound that was heard was the bleat and occasional belch of the camels. His men, well-trained and trustworthy, kept voiceless vigil, always aware of their surroundings. Jensen had little worries on that matter, as they had given the Bani Yas a more than wide enough berth. He might take them on alone or with his fellow sheikhs, but he wouldn't risk Jared’s safety where they were concerned. Soon enough, the endless expanse of parchment colored sand began to transform into rubble and scrub, indicating the nearby salt flats. He was about to reveal as much to Jared when the boy spoke without prompting for the first time that morning.

“The sabkhas,” he exhaled.

Jensen twisted sharply in his saddle and shot Jared an assessing stare. He found himself cursing himself again, for he realized that Jared probably had taken this route, or one close to it, only in reverse when he had left Doheh. He started to grow concerned that Jared had an inkling where he was and that the port city was only little more than two day’s hard ride from them. He didn't need to have a map to find his way back, as he could simply follow the coastline all the way up. How could he have been so stupid to have taken Jared here? And how unintentionally cruel, to dangle freedom in front of him thusly…

“You’ve been here before?” Jensen ground out.

Jared seemed to be lost in a dream. “Hmm? Oh, I suppose. I mean no disrespect, but so much is starting to blend together. Those are salt flats, aren’t they? Are we near the ocean?” And there was no mistaking the genuine excitement in Jared’s voice. Something about it quelled Jensen’s attack of nerves. He wasn't yet prepared to let his guard down, as Jared had proven himself an excellent actor once before, but he did relax slightly.

“We are,” he confirmed. “Would you like to go closer?”

Jared dabbed at his forehead, the only outward sign he had yet shown that the heat still challenged him. “Very much so,” he replied earnestly.

“It will be cooler by the sea,” Jensen promised him and was rewarded with a grateful sigh from Jared.

“Cooler would be lovely,” he confessed, shifting his robe about.

“Follow along the path Nasih takes and do not deviate from it,” Jensen warned him.

“Because the salt has formed a hard, but thin, shell over the earth, correct?” Jared piped up.

“Always the little scholar, aren’t you?” Jensen mocked him in a good-natured way and steered his camel behind the boy in case something was amiss. The flats could be treacherous, and apparently Jared’s past guides had informed as much, which made him initially cautious. With so many men available, even if one of them did end up mired in the quag underneath the crust, extracting them would be child’s play. That still didn’t mean Jensen was any more willing to risk Jared over it than he was with the pirates. He kept a close eye on his boy the entire time as his second picked a careful path through the flats.

Before too long, the sound of the sea was unmistakable. Its crash and breaking was a rhythmic background to the huffs and snorts of the camels, which appeared to be as eager as the men to reach the shore. When they gained a slight bit of elevation, the ocean came into view as a strip of turquoise trapped between the faded lemon of the beach and the cerulean sky. From what Jensen could determine, the tide was out and the nearer they got, the more the solid line of the sea fractured into bands of varying colors, from mint to steel, intersected with lines of pale saffron. Beside him, Jared fidgeted about on the saddle in what must surely have been eagerness.

_Now he probably believes that you haven’t brought him here to be rid of him._

“It’s so beautiful,” the lad said to no one in particular.

“Do you like it?” Jensen asked him, strangely nervous.

“Very much so,” he replied without guile.

Driving his camel closer to Jared, Jensen prodded, “You didn’t see it before?”

And like a fast moving shamal, Jared’s bright eyes clouded over. “When the _Northfleet_ weighed anchor at Doheh, I was too distracted to pay the harbor much mind. I assumed that when Ibrahim led me back, we might have dallied a little at the shore. But that wasn't meant to be.”

Jensen winced at the implication of why Jared hadn't seen it before now. “What do you want from me?” he continued in a voice much too small for such a tall lad.

 _I want what I can’t have,_ Jensen thought. _I want what I believed we had. I want that to be real. I want..._

“Nothing,” he said aloud. “I want nothing from you today other than for you to enjoy yourself here. Can you give me that?”

_Since you can’t give me what I truly want?_

“A game then,” Jared finally spoke. “A child’s game of pretend. I can do that, I suppose.”

“I will take what I can get,” Jensen conceded.

Jared raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you usually?” And there was almost the hint of mockery there. Almost.

Jensen tapped his crop against his camel’s side and drove it up towards Nasih. He was afraid if he lingered beside Jared in that instant, he might have done something he would have regret later. He spun from remorse to anger in the blink of an eye and the tug and pull of his emotions around the boy was exhausting. He couldn’t even begin to understand how Jared must have felt, although he found himself wondering that more often of late. Back at the palace, the more time he spent with the Englishman, the more time he thought of him when they were apart.

Reining in near his second, Jensen slipped back into Arabic and began discussing locations for their camp with Nasih. Jensen was familiar with a lagoon to the north, where he wanted their tent pitched. Nasih was less than excited, but Jensen pointed out there was plenty of scrub for the camels to graze on at the south end of the lagoon and the perimeter was completely open. There was no way someone could approach them or leave without a watch spotting them.

“You set up one pair at the north end,” Jensen instructed him, “another at the south and two of you will march the perimeter at all times, but no closer than that. Is that understood?” he added when it looked as though Nasih was about to find fault with the plan.

“All this for a harem slave?” the older man snapped harshly, although he made certain to be discreet about his displeasure.

“You have my orders,” Jensen replied in a low and deadly voice. “I would see them obeyed _without_ question.”

“Yes, my Sheikh,” he answered, touching his forehead, lips and chest briefly. Jensen was mollified, but heated words would be exchanged between them upon their return to the palace. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all. In point of fact, it wouldn’t even be the first time they were over Jared.

“Trouble in paradise?” Jared quipped, when Jensen had dropped back to ride abreast of him.

Jensen scowled blackly and Jared only laughed. “No,” he reassured Jensen’s unspoken query, “I didn’t understand what you were talking about, but from the way you two carried yourselves, it was obvious there was some unpleasantness. I can only assume it was about me. Are you sure I am not more trouble than I’m worth?”

_I once thought you were worth everything._

Jensen remained silent.

When the party turned left along the shore and wound their way into the lagoon proper, some of the tension fled Jensen’s shoulders. The area was as secluded as he could hope to find in a land more often flat than anything else. The nearest village was a half-day’s ride and the men of that village more than likely had already travelled towards Doheh for the pearl season. They should be unmolested for the duration of their brief stay, exactly as he had hoped. Judging by the position of the sun, it was almost time for the Dhuhr. Their planning had been on point.

Jensen noticed that Jared was saddened when, after he had dismounted, Aroob was led away. He barely had a chance to pet the beast on her tuft of dark hair before Qasim had rounded the animals up, unburdened them of their packs and drove them to their temporary pasture. He explained as much to the boy.

“Those salam trees would make a tasty meal for them, I suppose. Although how they navigate around the thorns is still a mystery to me,” Jared commented.

“Yes, they are far better equipped to deal with them than a man would be,” Jensen agreed and he couldn’t help but to recall Alaina’s confession about Jared’s first escape. “They provide natural protection, which is why some plant them around their homes. Keeps out intruders.”

“Keeps people in as well.” Jared’s voice was no more than a whisper, but it was all the admission Jensen needed. The First Kadin had spoken the truth then. Jared had tried to flee before and been thwarted.

When the noon prayers were finished, Nasih and the others set about unwrapping a different tent for his and Jared’s use. Larger than the simpler lean-to, this tent – which could have slept six comfortably – was made of a rich gold and maroon brocade. Erected, it was closed on three sides, with one open to face the ocean, and pitched high enough that they could easily walk around under it without the need to duck. No mean feat for two tall men such as them. A carpet was tossed down for flooring and two pallets were unrolled for them to sleep on, although the sand was almost soft enough to bed down on without them. The ubiquitous cushions that were favored for seating were tossed about and four lanterns were hung along the top of the opening from loops in the fringe, although it was too early for them to be lit. The last bit that was added was a mostly opaque shift of silk, which divided the tent in half as Jensen had requested.

A smaller lean-to was established some twenty feet away, and several jugs of water were placed near it, for them to bathe and wash themselves. A few feet to left of the main tent, the men dug a small fire pit and loaded it with kindling, stacking the rest of the firewood nearby. And the final touch was a series of torches on poles as tall as a man, which both surrounded the camp and created a path to the lean-to. The lights would be useful at night if one needed to relieve oneself and also to make certain there were no deep pockets of shadows that someone might disappear into. His men would be able to detect anyone’s movements quite easily with their placement. It was an excellent compromise so that his men would give them the illusion of privacy while maintaining their watch.

When the escorts were done, they bowed before Jensen – some even nodding to Jared – and disappeared from sight, some to the south, and the others to the north.

Jensen watched as Jared leaned his head back and breathed in the heavily salted air. His face was tipped skyward and his eyes closed. He looked peaceful, wrapped in his white robes, and Jensen didn't realize that he was smiling until Jared opened his eyes and slid them to the left to regard Jensen curiously. “I don't know about you,” he told Jared almost dismissively, “but I didn't come this far just to look at the water.” And he jerked his head towards the crystal clear lagoon before he strode past Jared and entered the tent.

Along the right side, Jensen spotted his travel case and pulled out a pair of peştemals, as well as two wide pieces of triangular, dark cloth. Without turning around, Jensen began to methodically strip off his robes, glad to be rid of the heavy things and all that they implied. By the time he had undone his sirwal and let them fall to the rug beneath his feet, he heard a slight gasp from behind him. He twisted his head over his shoulder and saw that Jared was still standing in the same spot, but openly staring at him in all his nude glory. He cocked his right eyebrow, but said nothing before turning back around and picking up one of the swaths of material. He slung it around himself so that most of the material was at his back, tying two of the three points tight around his waist. He reached between his legs for the longest point, pulled it up and threaded it under the tie at his waist, before tugging it back down so it dangled in front of his newly-covered groin. Then he took a rough bit of hemp and belted that several times around his waist to hold it fast. When he faced Jared, the lad was decidedly staring out towards the sea with his hands cupped about his eyes as though the glare was disturbing him. Jensen couldn't stop the cocky grin that spread across his face.

“Care to join me?” he invited the blushing boy. Flexing his muscular arms wide, he added, “It is much cooler this way.”

Jared ducked his head, rolling his lower lip into his mouth and Jensen was overwhelmed with the memory of exactly what that plump flesh tasted like. “I-I don’t have anything like that,” he stuttered, waving his hand in the general direction of Jensen’s attire, without meeting his amused gaze.

“I have another on my bedroll, Jared. You needn't act so affronted, you know. This is typical of what men here wear when pearl diving,” he assured the lad.

If possible, Jared grew more red. “Oh, I know. I saw them in Doheh.” And he grabbed an edge of his kufiya and blotted it along his throat, which was glistening with sweat.

The smug smile dropped from Jensen’s face at the thought of Jared admiring anyone else’s physique. “Go along and change. I will wait for you,” he ordered the boy.

Jared shuffled past Jensen, never lifting his eyes. Jensen was sorely tempted to watch Jared undress, but kept his view towards the sea. He did grab a small jug of oil near the cooking supplies and began to slather it on rather liberally for protection against the rays of the sun. He tried not to laugh out loud when he heard Jared’s muffled curses as he must have struggled with the wrap. “I could help you if you'd like,” he offered solicitously, stealing a quick peek. Jared was fussing with the rope, his back to Jensen, and miles and miles of golden skin available for his uninhibited perusal. Jensen swallowed roughly.

“No,” Jared practically squeaked and Jensen tore his eyes away with some difficulty.

When he finally appeared by Jensen’s side, the older man had to stifle a laugh. The boy had tied the bloody rope so tight against his waist Jensen wondered how he could even manage to draw breath. He reached over to adjust it and Jared stepped back quickly.

Smothering the rush of anger and disappointment that thrummed through his veins at that, Jensen reasoned with him. “It's not a damned corset, Jared. You have to be able to breathe, you know.” And he grasped Jared by his narrow waist and tugged him closer. With deft fingers, he loosened Jared’s makeshift belt until he was certain it was more comfortable but still functional. “Better,” he decreed as he handed the lad the small jug of oil.

“For your skin,” he explained at Jared’s perplexed expression.

The Englishman’s brow smoothed out. “Oh, like Gen uses on me,” he commented innocently enough.

Jensen’s jaw clenched. “Yes, like _Gen_ uses on you.” The diminutive version of her name was not lost on him. “And has she measured up to your expectations?” he groused, trying not to follow each pass of Jared's hands as he spread the lubricant over his lithe muscles.

“She’s been wonderful,” he carried on, while covering himself as best he could with the oil. “It's been…nice to have a companion nearby.” He raised his head from where he had stooped over to coat his legs and Jensen suddenly wanted to twine his fingers in that chestnut hair, now shot through with copper strands thanks to his time under the burning sun. “But I suppose, if we’re to continue the masquerade, perhaps we shouldn't speak of the harem?” There was no malice to his words and Jensen snapped his head once in agreement.

When Jared finished up (and he seemed to pay extra attention to each part of his person with meticulous care until not one inch of exposed flesh had been missed), he handed Jensen back the jug and stood there like a Greek sculpture, all long lines and perfect proportions. The golden hoops were still in place and Jensen was both intrigued and disgusted with them by turns. And he still had trouble reconciling Jared’s height, having to look up at the lad, and said as much.

Jared, for his part, ducked his head. “I shot up like a sprout the last year. I grew so fast my bones and joints actually ached. It was the only time, save for when I was twelve, that I could recall my body actually hurting. Well, apart from…” he trailed off, crossing his arms over his chest and partially obscuring the jewelry. When he raised his head again and peered at Jensen through his long fringe, Jensen couldn't help but sweep some of that silky hair back behind his right ear for him.

“I think you're correct, Jared. Let’s not speak of other times, shall we?” The idea of Jared in pain left him unsettled and he didn't wish to dwell on it.

“Not today,” the lad agreed.

Jensen tucked a dagger into his belt and hefted up a small spear in his right hand. They walked to the edge of the water, Jared with his arms still crossed over his chest, awkward and unsure. He was a far cry from the wanton lover in his bed _that_ night, who had obviously meant to use his body to the fullest with Jensen. Now he was more like the boy he had known in England, shy and earnestly uncertain. Jensen suddenly realized he didn’t know if the boy could even swim. They’d never actually made it to the creek back in Somerset, so he wasn’t sure. Very few Englishman seemed to know how to, however, considering the chill waters, it did make a modicum of sense. And the Thames was practically a cesspool. Who would ever willingly enter that?

As the water rushed towards their feet, Jared marveled at it. “It’s as clear as glass,” he gasped. “And a little cooler than the air, thank goodness. But not by much.”

Jensen stretched out his left hand. “It gets even better,” he smiled. “The only things you need to be careful of are the stones.”

“Cut feet?” Jared asked as he slipped his hand in Jensen’s.

“Poisonous fish,” Jensen replied easily. “They resembled lumpy rocks, but have deadly spines along their back. Luckily,” he continued and gently pulled Jared closer the deeper they waded in, “the water is so clear, you can always see where you’re walking. Trust me.”

Both men froze at the words and Jensen braced for whatever verbal barbs Jared might hurl at him, but the boy stayed mute. He did, however, continue to follow Jensen, so the sheikh counted that as a win of sorts as their tentative truce held firm.

The lagoon had several coral structures and small fish darted in and around them. When the men were chest deep, Jensen turned to Jared and asked, “Can you swim at all?”

“Somewhat. James and I…” and there was another pitfall in their conversation. Jared shook himself and continued, “I can maneuver around all right as long as you don't expect anything too expert.”

“You’ll find that you float much easier in these waters than you did there. Go ahead and lean back,” Jensen urged him, releasing the boy’s hand and slipping his up against the small of Jared’s back. With only the slightest hesitation, Jared did as he was bidden. When he was nearly horizontal, he flailed around, but Jensen kept his hand wrapped around him in support. And, soon enough, he was peering down at the boy’s cat-eyes as Jared discovered that Jensen was correct and he was much more buoyant in these seas than in the waters of an English river. The lad let out what could only be described as a joyful bark and fluttered his arms inelegantly and began to propel himself around, his hair a dark halo about his face.

Jensen enjoyed the spectacle the boy made and watched delightedly for a few minutes as he discovered how to turn about and even swim on his stomach. When he paused for a moment, in slightly deeper water, Jensen called out, “If you grow tired, simply float on your back as you first did and catch your breath, all right? And watch where you step!”

Jared said something in happy reply, but Jensen couldn’t make it out. It was enough that the boy was enjoying himself. Jensen swam closer to a reef formation, took three or four rapid, full breaths before holding the final one and ducking under the surface. He kicked down closer to the natural formation, allowing his eyes to get used to the sting of the salt. At its deepest, the lagoon’s bottom was no more than fifteen feet from the surface. Small schools of fish darted in and out of the rocks, some deep blue while others were yellow and black with long beaks. Jensen dove deeper, poking in and around a few crevices. Twisting over the lip of a large shelf of coral, he smirked at the antics of a pair of small, orange and white stripped fish that peeked out at him from the safety of a large, soft, underwater flower with dozens of slender fingers. He would have to show Jared the pair if he could get the lad to hold his breath long enough.

He was about to resurface when he noticed a clump of oysters nearby. The local men must have missed them in their harvesting and he pulled out his knife and worked them free. Stuffing the half dozen into the makeshift pouch in the front of his swimming costume, Jensen sheathed his dagger and kicked his legs to propel himself upwards. He broke the surface and first checked on Jared. The boy was still paddling about, more like a dog than anything else, but was clearly occupied in his efforts. He was about to call out when the flash and streak of something large and silver was caught in the dappled shafts of sunlight underneath him. Jensen repeated his breathing technique and dove back in, churning his legs madly as he chased after his prey.

Sure enough, the Jesh umalhala was hunting, just like Jensen. The large, mostly silver fish was tipped in gold and had a few dozen golden spots along its sides. Nearly three feet long, it was probably not yet full grown and the meat would be much tastier than from an adult. Jensen swam over it, careful not to cast a shadow as the fast fish scoured the reef beneath it for smaller fish to eat and didn’t notice Jensen above. With one hand gripping some hard coral for stability, Jensen timed the fish’s movements and lunged forward with his spear at precisely the right instant. He struck the fish mid-flank and held on tight as the thing squirmed and thrashed about even as it was mortally wounded. With both hands gripping the spear, Jensen bore them both up, breaking the water with a whoop of success.

Jared stopped his splashing, turning this way and that until he saw Jensen and made his jerky, inept approach over. Jensen kicked in place, bobbing in the warm water until Jared neared. The boy held onto one of Jensen’s thick forearms to keep from drifting and ran his other hand along the side of the still-twitching jack, skating his fingers over the golden drops of color near the fish’s top fin.

“He’s got freckles,” the lad pointed out and that made Jensen’s ears grow heated. The boy and his need to point out anything with spots…

“We won’t go hungry tonight. I’m going to bring him ashore.”

Jared’s expression altered. “Are we done?”

“No,” Jensen was quick to assure him, spitting out some saltwater when the fish made another thrash and his mouth sunk down below the surface, “but he must weigh two stone. Let me get him ‘squared away’ as the sailors say and I’ll come back and join you. There are some things I’d rather like to show you.”

Jared released the hold he had on Jensen’s arm and smiled slightly as he kicked about to stay afloat.

Jensen didn’t have far to swim before his feet brushed against the sandy bottom of the lagoon and he was standing upright again. The jack’s twisting had all but stopped and it was dead weight in Jensen’s arms. When he was near the fire pit, Jensen raised the fish up, signaling to his men what he’d caught. He could have cleaned the fish himself, but he was eager to get back to Jared and show the lad some of the underwater life of the lagoon. He placed the animal on the sand and grabbed a small pot. Heading back to the water, he scooped some of it up and returned to the pit. Emptying his pouch, he tossed the half dozen oysters into the saltwater, where they would keep until dinner. He decided to forgo his spear, since the fish was more than enough for Jared and his escorts, but made sure his knife was still in place when he turned back to the lagoon.

But Jared was no longer in sight.

“Jared!” he shouted as he ran down to the waterline. “Jared!”

Off to the left, the boy burst out of the water. Jensen exhaled in relief, muscles uncoiling. When he lifted his head up, he saw Jared get his feet under him, the water barely to his chest. The lad shook his head from side to side, hair flying about, and stretched out his arms as if the sea had given him birth. Hair clinging to his face and neck in serpentine clumps, Jared’s body was caressed by sparkling trails of water over his darkened skin that then returned to the sea. Jensen remembered the ancient Greek mariner tales his mother read to him. So young and beautiful, Jared was Nerites come to life in that moment. Nerites, the only brother to the Nereids, who enchanted Poseidon so greatly that the sea god gave him his chariot and then his heart. And their mutual love created Anteros, the personification of love reciprocated.

“It’s so beautiful!” Jared cried, and Jensen blinked away his romantic woolgathering. But he couldn’t stop the matching grin that answered Jared’s.

Jensen strode in, creating great splashes of foamy white and came up alongside Jared. Without a second thought, he clasped the boy’s hand in his. “Come,” he urged the younger man. “There is so much more to see.”

They spent the entire afternoon in the water. Jensen taught Jared how to breathe and hold his breath like a pearl diver so they could dive about the reef together. They watched the orange and white fish clown about the coral, the blue angels dash back and forth madly between the reef openings and they even came face to face with a snakelike eel that slithered out of his den to gape at them, mouth opening and closing as if in a silent scream. Jared had slipped behind Jensen, but he showed the boy the animal was no threat and Jared’s curiosity quickly got the better of him once more.

It was only once the sun had dipped low behind their tent did Jensen realize how much time had elapsed. They’d spent hours in the lagoon, mapping out all of its denizens and natural architecture. He signaled to Jared to return to the surface and, with some reluctance, that they should return to camp. Jared agreed, his lips and fingers a touch shriveled from all the time in the sea, but there was a light in his hazel eyes that had nothing to do with the impending sunset.

As they waded out of the lagoon, the sun’s angle shifted and suddenly there were glinting lights scattered all along the beach like fallen stars. Oyster shells, the remnants of the villager’s diving efforts, littered the beach and chose that moment to come alive in iridescent glory. Jared gasped softly from where he stood beside Jensen and the two took a moment to appreciate the sight in front of them before returning to their camp.

Padding along the slowly cooling sand, Jensen noted his men had lit all the torches and lanterns and started the fire. By the smell of it, the jack was also almost ready to eat and a cloth had been laid out near the fire with plates of dates, cheese and other mezze. He smiled to himself, pleased with his men’s competence. Though none were in sight, Jensen knew they weren’t far. He went briefly into the tent and returned with the peştemals, tossing one to Jared.

“Why don’t you go ahead and change,” he suggested with a flick of his head to the lean-to, “before that starts to dry out and get itchy.”

Jared’s face flushed a rosy pink, the color spreading down to his neck and chest. He caught the wrap and disappeared behind the goatskin, although Jensen heard the tell-tale splash of water. He tried very hard not to imagine how Jared looked, bare skin even deeper in color than before. He unwound his swimming gear and was knotting the end of his gold and green peştemal at his hip when he heard a stuttered cough. Shifting around, he saw Jared, hair newly-slicked away from his broad forehead, chest and stomach muscles on clear display as his own wrap of white and gold rested dangerously low at his waist. Jensen stepped up to the boy without thought and placed his hands gently on his hips, tugging and shifting the material beneath.

“First too tight and now too loose,” he chided him gently. “There,” he said when he finally moved his hands away. He jerked his head to the feast behind him. “I’ll join you as soon as I scrub some of the sea from my beard.”

Jared swallowed and Jensen couldn’t help but watch as the lad’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he did so. “All right,” Jared croaked.

Jensen ducked behind the goatskin and grabbed an earthenware jug to sluice some fresh water over his body. He didn’t even bother to remove the wrap, needing the distraction to calm himself down. He splashed more water on his face, dragging his hands over his short beard to remove any salt that lingered there before it could grow scratchy and irritating. When he came back around, he saw Jared already settled near the food, watching the rays of the setting sun reflect across the water. The boy appeared peaceful, almost happy, with a slight curl to his lips and his eyes distant.

They spoke very little during their meal other than about some of what they had seen, their truce seeming to demand the silence to survive. Jensen tried his best to identify all the creatures they had seen to Jared’s satisfaction, eventually making up names for them in Arabic. But Jared seemed to be so earnest in his attention that Jensen eventually had to confess to the ruse. The lad’s mouth had dropped open in shock but as Jensen was about to apologize, he threw a date at him, striking him squarely on the nose.

“I suppose,” Jensen admitted as he rubbed the abused bridge, “I should be grateful you chose the date instead of the oyster.”

“Would have served you right,” Jared quipped. “I’ve never had an oyster,” he added as he peeked into the container with the square-shaped shellfish.

“Pick one,” Jensen urged him, holding out the bowl. Jared studied the various shells and picked one that was slightly more bronze than the other reddish-brown ones. Jensen selected one as well and pulled out his knife.

“You cut here,” he indicated near the hinge, “and slice through the top muscle.” He wiggled his dagger into a small hole near the hinge and broke it. Sliding the knife along the top, he cut the muscle that held the shell closed. He pulled the loosened portion away, handing it to Jared. The boy held it up, marveling at how the nacre caught and reflected back the last bit of sunlight like a rainbow. “Here,” he said, to get Jared’s attention again. “Cut along the bottom of the muscle like this. And now it’s ready to eat.” Jensen held the shell up to his lips, leaned his head back and sucked the meat and juice into his mouth. With a loud slurp, he swallowed it all down. Jared stared at him as Jensen dragged his hand across his mouth, loudly savoring the buttery brine flavor of the meat.

“You try,” he urged the boy, handing him the knife hilt first. Even as he did it, Jensen realized how vulnerable he had made himself before the young Englishman as Jared accepted the weapon. If the boy wanted to escape again, he had the means now. But Jared merely mimicked Jensen’s motions and removed the top shell. He was about to slice along the bottom of the muscle when he frowned.

“What’s this?” he asked the older man.

Jensen shifted closer, unconsciously slinging his right arm around the lad’s shoulder as he stared down at the oyster. Examining the meat more closely, Jensen noticed the large lump near the center that was too round to be flesh. With the index finger of his left hand, he nudged the lump until it popped out from under the meat.

“Oh,” Jared gasped quietly.

There, in the setting sun, a large pearl glistened in the evening light.

“It looks golden,” the boy breathed, pushing it gingerly around the shell with his finger.

“Around here, our pearls are usually creamy white. Sometimes yellow,” Jensen remarked softly. “Gold is very rare.”

Jared immediately withdrew his finger like the jewel had scorched him. “It’s yours,” Jensen said, pushing the shell towards him.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. You found them,” Jared insisted, shaking his head vigorously.

“You chose this one, Jared. It was meant for you. Please,” Jensen added.

Reluctantly, Jared accepted the pearl, studiously avoiding the other man’s eyes. “Thank you, Jensen.”

Hearing his name unsolicited was like a gift in return.

“Why don’t you put it away while I cover the remainder of the food?” he suggested, removing the arm he had forgotten was still around his boy.

Jared stood slowly, his pearl clutched tightly in his fist as though he were afraid he might lose it now that Jensen mentioned the possibility. “Thank you,” he repeated and then disappeared into his side of the tent.

Jensen busied himself with covering and wrapping whatever food was left. He moved most of it well away from the tent, confident one of his men would come to collect it eventually. He left the remaining oysters for them as well. For some reason, it seemed in bad form to open any of the others, as if that would somehow taint the treasure they’d found. When he came back to tend the fire, Jared still hadn’t returned. Jensen poked and prodded the wood as the last light of day faded away and the stars began to slowly appear one by one. He admired the velvet sky, suddenly remembering other nights he and Jared had shared gazing at the heavens. He cocked his head to the side, curious if the boy was going to return or if he had grown tired. The day had been long and the hours spent in the water could wear out anyone not used to such activities. Jensen stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders and feeling the pleasant pull of tired muscles himself. It was a nearly perfect day. Nearly. He could almost believe the lie of it all. And he wanted to.

Deciding Jared must have gone to sleep after all, he stoked the fire enough for the next, few hours, figuring he would be up more than once to maintain it throughout the night, and rose to his feet. Wanting Jared to have some privacy, he walked around the back of the tent, blowing out the lanterns and slipping quietly into his side. The red silk was still in place, but because of the other side’s proximity to the fire, some light spilled into Jared’s portion and Jensen could just make out the boy’s outline. He wasn’t asleep, as Jensen had suspected, but sitting up, knees drawn close to his chest. Jensen wasn’t sure what to make of that. He lay down, stretching out on the pallet, laced his fingers together behind his head and tried to keep his eyes to the tent opening and the inky sky beyond. But they strayed, almost against his volition, towards Jared time and time again.

Finally, he could take it no longer. “Jared? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Jensen,” Jared replied, so softly Jensen had to strain to hear him over the not too distant roll of waves. The lagoon was relatively calm, but the sea beyond was never still. “I-I want to thank you,” he continued after a minute, “for today.”

Jensen’s lips twitched at the corners. “It was a lovely day,” he agreed. _Almost perfect_ , his mind whispered again.

“I-I would like to say something,” Jared continued, “and I hope you’d allow me to finish.”

Jensen rolled onto his right side, propping his head up with his hand. “Go on,” he told the boy, but the calmness in his voice did not mirror his emotions. His heart had started to beat a staccato rhythm, uncertain what Jared wanted to say, but anxious of it nonetheless.

“It is about your mother,” the lad rasped.

“Jared,” Jensen warned, rolling up to his knees, suddenly lethal. From the angle of the light and the opacity of the silk, Jensen saw Jared’s outline quite clearly but knew he himself was obscured by shadows. Jared shifted to his knees and crawled up to the silk divide, right hand poised beside it, so close his palm almost brushed the delicate material.

“Hear me out, Jensen, I-I beg of you,” the younger man pleaded. Jensen’s nostrils flared, but he held his tongue. Barely.

“Your father tried to go after her the day of that terrible storm,” Jared whispered without preamble. “He tried, Jensen, but he was stopped.”

Jensen breathed in sharply. How did Jared know of this?

“Someone from the harem told me as much,” Jared replied and Jensen wondered if he had spoken aloud. “They stopped him, Jensen, when he tried to save her. They _stopped_ him.  I-I thought you should know the truth about that.”

The only sound in the tent was both of their ragged breaths. Jensen clamped his lips together, eyes flicking from side to side, but not seeing anything.

“And you should know the truth about her, too. There was something else I discovered. Something even more important,” Jared croaked. “Your mother had found some strange rock formation and the day she went out to ride, she told one of the women in the harem how she planned to take you to see it later that month,” Jared told him, voice breaking and skipping as he struggled to speak.

Jensen held his breath. His mother and he had liked to play games, searching out odd shaped rocks and caves and would spend hours amongst them. She would tell him they were Irish castles, haunted by banshees, or that they were gateways to the Fae realms as he clambered about on them, giggling and playing hide-and-go-seek with her. This was something only between the two of them and Jensen had not shared those memories with another soul, not even Jared. There was no way he could have made any of this up.

“Who,” he exhaled violently, voice suddenly grating and uncertain, “who told you this?”

“One of the older women of the harem. She has blonde hair that’s fading to grey, with periwinkle blue eyes,” Jared replied, still on his knees before the silk divide.

 _My mother’s friend Samantha_ , he thought.

“She never gave me her name, said names had no value anymore,” Jared rambled on, “as she shifted from one couch to another.”

“Why would you tell me this, Jared?” Jensen gasped, anger and something unnamed racing through him. If she had planned to take him somewhere new, then she hadn't ridden out that day intending to die. She hadn't killed herself because of him or any other reason. She hadn’t. It was everything he wanted to believe was true about her, but was too frightened to. And Jared had given him this gift, this breath of salvation. The very boy who had spit on her name and memory.

“Because I know what she meant to you, Jensen. I know,” his voice hitched and Jared had raised both his hands up as though placating the man he couldn’t see, “what her d-death did to you. How you blamed yourself. But don’t you see? You no longer have to. You can lay down those chains, Jensen. It was an accident. She never meant to leave you. She loved you too much to ever do that.”

“Why,” his voice shook, “after everything you did…everything you _said_ , Jared, why would you give me this?”

“Because every day since _that_ day I remember what I did,” Jared sniffed. “I remember exactly how you looked,” and Jensen saw the boy drop his hands to his waist as if searching for something before bringing them back up to the silk once more, “and I would do _anything_ to make amends for that day.”

Jensen slapped a hand across his mouth, not sure what might spill from his lips.

“I know you hate me,” he heard the boy mutter and there was no mistaking the tears that mingled bitterly with those words, “I hate myself for the pain I caused you. But perhaps someday you might forgive me. I-I would gladly remain a prisoner forever if I thought you might.” Jared passed his hands up and down the length of red as though it was Jensen he was stroking with his butterfly touches.

And Jensen had to open his eyes wide to stop the stinging pricks he felt stabbing at their corners. Swallowing hard against them, Jared’s words shook him to the core, because that right there was the crux of what tormented him so. He believed he _could_ forgive Jared eventually. He’d been fighting that for weeks, hating himself and Jared for it, but he could no longer deny the truth.  He could and would do it one day. But how could he ever _forget_ that for however a brief a time or long ago it was, Jared had _meant_ those words with every ounce of his being? How could he ever move past that? And if he couldn’t, how true could his forgiveness be? He raked his hands though his short hair and didn’t know how he wasn’t screaming in that moment.

“My father had my life plotted out for me and there was no escaping it,” Jared continued, unaware of Jensen’s torment and confusion, starting to rock back and forth on his knees, “but I accepted it for this singular chance to glimpse a part of you one, last time. And d-despite everything that’s come to pass, I would suffer it all again gladly if only I knew you might forgive me, Jensen.

“Please,” he continued, “please tell me you might yet forgive me. Please, Jensen. Please.”

Ripping the curtain aside, Jensen realized that Jared had dropped his head to his knees, his hands scrabbling at the carpet beneath them. “Please,” the boy continued to mumble as his tears increased and Jensen couldn't stand the sight before him.

This was what he had wanted? Jared broken and begging, only a shell of his former self, clawing at the ground? Wasn't it Aesop who said, "We would often be sorry if our wishes were gratified”? Truer words had probably never been spoken. He had everything he wanted and it was like ashes in his mouth.

Jensen seized the weeping boy by his shoulders and dragged him upright. “Shh,” he tried to soothe, still unable to say the words Jared desperately needed to hear. “Shh,” he tried again, unaware of his own tears that had started to spill.

Jared pulled his head up as if it weighed a ton. His eyes were so blue in that moment, bluer than the deepest sea and Jensen was lost in their fathomless depths, pulled into the maelstrom that raged behind them. He smashed his lips against Jared’s, not caring a whit about what was right or wrong, only wanting to lose himself in the boy before him, bury old hurts and forgetting everything that was wrong between them.

At first, it was only Jensen who was active in the demands of the flesh. He prodded his tongue insistently against Jared’s mouth until the boy acquiesced, opening up for him with the sweetest of sighs like a night blooming blossom. Jensen stabbed his tongue repeatedly into the warm cave of Jared’s mouth, tracing the ridges he found within like a cartographer learning the lay of the land before him. He shifted his right hand up and dug his fingers into the thick locks of the boy’s hair, cradling his skull with the utmost care. Jared moaned and twined his arms about Jensen’s neck, pushing himself up against the older man’s thick chest. Jensen felt the scrape and drag of the metal against his skin and tightened his grip in the lad’s hair, eventually tugging until Jared released his lips with a wet slip of flesh, groaning at the separation as Jensen yanked his head back, exposing the vulnerable flesh of his neck to the older man’s perusal. Jensen sucked on the succulent apple of Jared’s throat like a man starving.

“Jensen,” Jared breathed, eyes squeezed shut.

Jensen tore himself away with a slick pop. “Tell me to stop,” he demanded of the boy before him. “Tell me, Jared.”

The younger man opened his eyes like he was fighting some great burden. “No,” he answered Jensen. “Don’t stop.”

And Jensen stared long and hard into those ever-changing, kaleidoscope eyes. Seeming to find what he needed, Jensen jerked his head once, decisively. This was so much like the night they had shared before, but not. Jared was almost as wanton, but more present. It was infinitely better, even though a dark presence teased him with flashes of Jared squirming and completely at his mercy, bound and helpless.

“You’re mine,” he rasped and Jared could only nod in response. But that wasn't enough. “Say it,” he demanded.

“I'm yours,” Jared groaned. “I always was, from the first moment I saw you.”

“Yes,” Jensen hissed, suddenly appeased. “You were.”

He continued to pull Jared's head backward until the arch of the boy’s spine was too much and he began to tumble. Jensen followed his body in its decent and they both landed hard against Jared's bedroll. Jensen rolled more fully onto the lad, insinuating his knee between the younger man’s thighs, nudging them apart although the wraps fought against them both.

“So beautiful,” Jensen exhaled when he pulled back enough to take in the sight before him. The fire outside cast strange and capricious shadows within their cocoon as the sky bent down to kiss the earth and one couldn’t discern where the one started and the other stopped. “So very beautiful,” he repeated.

“Jensen,” Jared sighed, a benediction and a plea all rolled into one.

Suddenly detesting the material between them, Jensen trailed his left hand down Jared’s solid torso until he reached the scrap of cloth between them and tore the peştemal from the boy’s body. The ripping fabric only served to fan the growing flames between them. Suddenly, all of Jared was revealed to his hot, unyielding gaze. The boy moved his hands to cover himself but Jensen wouldn't stand for it.

“Never, Jared,” he ground out, slapping Jared’s fingers aside. “Never hide from me,” he demanded as he tossed his own wrap aside.

Jared blinked hard and rolled his lower lip into his mouth sloppily.

“Look at you,” Jensen whispered, tripping his fingers up and down Jared’s stomach, pausing to tease around the lad’s cinnamon colored nipples, which puckered and tightened up around the golden hoops that dangled from their peaks. “I can’t believe you did this,” he marveled, slipping his pinky finger in one and tugging gently.

Jared squirmed and bowed his back sharply. “I-I thought you wanted them,” he panted against the attack of Jensen’s relentless fingers.

Ducking his head down until his plump lips wrapped around the left one, Jensen mumbled, “You pierced them because you thought I wanted them?”

Jared grew rigid in his arms. Jensen released the hoop to study the boy’s face gravely.

“I-I didn't pierce them,” he admitted, honest in his desire and embarrassment.

Jensen reared back onto his haunches. “Sonofabitch,” he hissed and Jared recoiled.

“Shh,” he soothed immediately. “Shh.”

Jensen swallowed thickly. Someone had done this to Jared. Someone had marred his unblemished skin against his will in Jensen’s name. With the utmost caution, he rotated the hoop on the right nipple until the catch was revealed. With gentle movements, far gentler than he thought himself capable of, Jensen undid the catch and threw the jewelry aside with no regard to where it landed. With duplicate concern, he did the same to the left nipple and Jared’s body was free of the offending gold moments later. “Never again,” he snarled as he lowered his lips to first one and then the other injured nipple, licking and nibbling the tiny nubs in turn until they tightened impossibly harder under the relentless onslaught.

Jared thrashed his head from side to side. “Oh,” he moaned, long and loud, no longer aware or caring about his nudity before Jensen.

“There you are,” the older man grinned, pulling away reluctantly from the boy’s lithe form to admire his handiwork. He dropped back down soon after and licked relentlessly at the left nub, suckling like a newborn at the tender peak. He smiled against the puckered flesh as he felt Jared’s fingers slip between his short locks and urge him closer against his chest. The lad’s long legs shifted restlessly against him, seeking something.

Jensen trailed slow, wet kisses from Jared’s abused nipple down the length of his solid torso until he lingered by the tender flesh surrounding the younger man’s navel. Jensen alternately bit and laved the skin there before dipping his tongue into the divot, stabbing the hollow he found. Jared wriggled and fidgeted. His restlessness grew as Jensen used his beard to trace circles about the delectable mound of flesh, hissing and rolling his hips uncontrollably under the older man’s lavish attentions.

“Jensen, please,” he whined and Jensen grinned mischievously before he worked his way back up to his boy’s flushed lips.

Sucking first the upper and then the lower lip blood-red, Jensen dove back into Jared’s sweet mouth. Their tongues tangled for a moment before Jensen growled low in his throat and jerked back his head. “You’re mine,” he told Jared again, both a threat and a promise in the same breath.

Jared’s eyes were already at half-mast, heavy lidded with desire. Those enchanting eyes, always a mix of colors, were nearly black now, united in want. Desire was written all over the lad’s face even if his mouth couldn’t form the words. Jensen nodded at the unspoken declaration. “Yes,” he agreed and dipped his head lower, dragging his beard against his boy’s downy cheek, burning the tender skin with his abrasive one. He nudged his nose against the curve of Jared’s ear and pulled the lobe into his mouth, sucking and licking at the fleshy cartilage before sinking his teeth into it. Jared yipped, but his hands raced frantically up and down Jensen’s spine, growing more insistent and demanding.

Jensen released the abused flesh, dragging his teeth down the prominent tendon in the younger man’s neck. He lapped at the sweat that collected around Jared’s collarbone. His boy was coated in the sea and tasted of tears and sorrow and love. Jensen wanted to bury himself in that and never surface again. He snaked a hand down between them, squeezing at the base of his already prodigious erection straining hot and heavy between his legs. As he did so, his knuckles brushed against Jared’s manhood and the lad arched up against him, wailing like a banshee. Licking his lips, he moved his hand and grasped Jared’s cock alongside his, pressing them close together and they both groaned simultaneously at the intimacy, honey-sweet and more intense than anything he had ever experienced before. He slowly slid his loose grip – he could barely wrap his hand around them – up and down their lengths, stopping only to drag his thumb across the heads of both their cocks, catching up some of the moisture that pooled there, and smeared it along whatever he could touch.

Head thrown back, Jensen growled long and low, needing so much more. He pried open his eyes and looked down at the boy beneath him. Jared was biting his lower lip near bloody, eyes squeezed tight and Jensen _wanted_. “Look at me, Jared,” he meant to demand, but his order came out a broken plea instead.

Jared’s lashes fluttered like the wings of a moth before opening to reveal eyes gone completely black in the flickering half-light of the fire. He looked back at Jensen and the older man felt the gaze down to the depths of his soul. “Can I?” he asked, suddenly the supplicant. “Can I, Jared?”

“Anything,” Jared gasped. “Everything.”

Jensen needed no more than that. He released their members, both grunting at the loss, and dragged the top of his hand up the length of his boy’s body until he reached Jared’s flushed mouth. He painted the swollen, lower lip with the wetness leftover from their combined lengths before dipping the digit inside. Jared sucked the finger deeper, moaning around its length and Jensen felt the vibration down to his toes, which curled in desire. He eventually prised it free, Jared chasing after it like a starving man. Jensen swooped down and claimed those inviting lips in a kiss that seared hotter than the desert sun while he slipped his hand down past Jared’s cock, nudged his velvety sack aside and circled the innermost part to his boy with that spit-slicked finger, teasing the rim but not pushing further. Jared trembled at the touch, his legs falling open naturally at Jensen’s insistence.

Jensen was strong, but not that strong. At that implicit invitation, he pushed his questing finger slowly, oh so slowly, inside. The heat and wetness he discovered there nearly snapped him out of his lust-driven haze. Jared was impossibly wet inside, loose but still too snug for more than a single finger. But how? And then he recalled the time the boy had spent alone while Jensen had cleaned up after their meal. He pulled away, frowning. Did Jared think even then that this was inevitable, like some tariff he had to pay to make amends so he’d made sure he was ready? Was that all that this was?

“Jared,” he rasped, voice shot like he hadn’t spoken in years.

The younger man had thrown an arm over his eyes and Jensen didn’t know if that was from desire or fear, but he needed to know before this went any further.

“Look at me, boy,” he commanded.

Jared let his arm tumble above his head and opened his eyes. They were still black as pitch, only the thinnest sliver of color ringed about. “Jensen?” Jared asked, voice as rough as his. But there was no sign of fear there, only want as bone deep as Jensen’s. He grasped Jensen’s broad shoulders and tried to draw him back towards his mouth, seeking more kisses but Jensen shrugged out of his grip, catching up his slender hands in one of his and pushing them back down.

He shoved himself down the younger man’s firm body, avoiding those grabbing hands and kneeled between Jared’s impossibly smooth legs – _something else to ask about_ , the last bit of his rational mind prodded, _but later_ – pushing those long legs farther apart. He nuzzled the inside of one tender thigh while his finger returned to that secret part of Jared and sunk back in. As he sucked kisses there, leaving dark marks in his wake, Jensen began to thrust that finger in and out of Jared, mimicking the act of love, eventually adding a second alongside the first and, finally, a third. If Jared noticed, he gave no sign save to sigh at the additional stretch and begin to rock against the intrusion. Jensen closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the join where thigh met hip, the supple smooth skin his fingers rubbed against almost too much for him to bear. Once again, he was near undone by the lad. Breathing deep the unique scent of Jared, he withdrew his hand and slicked his cock with the wetness he’d gathered within, no longer able to wait.

He sat back up and hooked his hands under Jared’s thighs, hoisting them high and changing the angle of the lad’s hips where he lay in a sweaty mess. With another shift, he moved his boy’s legs until they were nearly atop his shoulders and his pink entrance visible from where he kneeled. He freed his right hand and grabbed his cock, thick and throbbing, in a steely grip, teasing that vulnerable opening with the head, feeling it catch on the rim with every, other pass. Jared mewled and thrashed beneath him.

“I need…” he moaned. “I-I want –” he tried again, but words failed Jared. He couldn’t – or didn’t know how to – ask for what he needed.

“This,” Jensen finished for him and pushed in no more than an inch, before letting his head drop back in a grunt so loud he was sure the tent poles rattled. Jared’s channel was like the finest, kidskin glove – a snug, exquisite fit. As he tried to gather himself under control, he had no idea how he was going to keep from coming like the greenest of boys. This was almost too much.

When he chanced to peer down, he saw he wasn’t alone in that. Jared’s cock was flushed deep red, fluid pooling in his navel as it slapped against the solid muscles of the younger man’s stomach. He released his own cock to grab at the base of Jared’s, warning him, “Not yet, Jared. Don’t.”

Jared turned a hazy gaze towards Jensen’s voice and barely acknowledged the man.

 _That wouldn’t do,_ Jensen thought. _Too much like_ that _night. We must be together in this or not at all._

Letting go of Jared’s legs completely, Jensen leaned down and stole another kiss. While he did, he wrapped his arms around Jared’s waist and managed to turn them both abruptly around so that Jared was suddenly astride him on folded knees.

“Wha?” Jared mumbled unintelligently from his new position.

Jensen had kept his hands firmly on Jared’s hips, so he still wasn’t fully seated on Jensen’s manhood, which throbbed angrily in time with his pounding heart. They’d somehow shifted sideways, and Jared was framed by the wispy, crimson silk that fluttered in a rare, ocean breeze.

“Look at you,” he marveled breathlessly.

“Jensen,” he murmured, uncertain, shifting his hands about aimlessly.

Keeping one hand anchored like iron on Jared’s hip, he used the other to catch one of Jared’s and pull it down against his chest. “Your pace, sweetheart.”

Whether it was because he finally understood or it was the use of the endearment that shook Jared out of his confusion, Jensen would never know. But suddenly Jared’s hands were braced against his broad chest and the lad was slowly impaling himself, inch by inch, on Jensen’s grateful cock. By the time he was fully sheathed, they were both panting and sweaty. Jared had let his head droop forward, his chestnut locks a curtain between them. It took every ounce of control Jensen possessed not to roll his hips as he felt himself burning up from their connection, Jared all around him. Somewhere in the far, far distance, he heard the ocean waves, powerful in their own right as they surged forward before pulling back. A force of nature to be reckoned with, yet helpless before the siren draw of the moon. Jared was his moon and he was just as powerless before him.

“Can you move?” he grated out, hands fisted so tight in the bedroll that it tore.

Jared slowly raised his head and it was like a sunrise. There was dawning comprehension in that look and perhaps someone had shown Jared how to touch himself before Jensen, but Alaina had been correct again. Jared had been a virgin before him, but he was one no longer. That thought, powerful in its own right, hummed happily through Jensen’s mind even as his hind brain screamed for him to thrust and take.

With almost hesitant breaths, Jared started to gently raise and lower himself. Needing more of a connection, Jensen released the ragged bedding and clamped his hands on his boy’s thighs, feeling the long muscles there clench and flex as Jared started to find a rhythm to his movements that they both appreciated.

“Yes, ride me,” he praised the younger man. “Like that.”

When he hoped Jared was ready enough, hoped because he couldn’t wait a second more, Jensen began to roll his hips up to meet the lad’s downward thrusts. The first time he did it, Jared’s mouth dropped open in a guttural groan, eyes slamming shut and his cock spurted out more clear fluid. Their position didn’t allow Jensen to stab as deeply inside Jared as he wanted to, but the torture was utterly delicious. Arousal, like a half-remembered dream one step removed from reality, flitted about his body. It was there, but Jensen couldn’t quite reach it.

Eventually, he noticed Jared’s pace had increased and the dip and roll of their bodies made him think of horses. Quietly, Jared began to chant his name over and over again. When he twisted up just right, Jensen knew he had hit that spot inside Jared that could make him see stars. The boy screamed and started to come, white ribbons erupting from his swollen cock painting both their chests. The clenching of his inner walls around Jensen’s manhood was almost enough for him to come as well, but not quite.

While Jared was still spasming from his release, Jensen surged up, the change in angle wresting another scream out of his boy, and pushed Jared down onto his back, taking the silk divider with him. Jared was practically bent in half the way they landed, but he hadn’t stopped coming and the new angle allowed Jensen to thrust with the vigor and depth he need to catch his own release. Not one minute later, his sack drew up tight against his body and his cock was spraying the boy’s channel, marking that virgin passage with his brand declaring he had been there first. And as they both continued to rut against one another, exchanging languorous, messy kisses, his seed travelled deeper within Jared to a secret place to nurture something that, unbeknownst to either, would bind them together forever.

*****

They made love twice more before Jared finally collapsed onto his stomach in exhaustion. Jensen was splayed out, curled over the left side of Jared’s back protectively as the boy slept like the dead. The red silk had ended up tangled about them like a giant ribbon although Jensen had managed to free his right leg, and he rubbed his foot up and down Jared’s right calf. He clasped Jared’s exposed shoulder, tugging him closer, and rubbed his left cheek against Jared’s hair. Jensen was beyond sated and calm in a way he never could have imagined.

And in that haze of peace, he finally understood his father.

He understood what it was to desire something that one shouldn’t. To have taken something that would have been better left untouched. And he wanted Jared, more than ever. There was no denying that. He wanted the boy by his side. He wanted to keep him there forever. And he could, much like his father had kept his mother. His mother, who hadn’t hated her life enough to end it. His mother, who had perhaps found joy in her life after all. He could have that with Jared.

Nosing around the shell of his boy’s ear, he whispered, “I love you,” before placing the gentlest of kisses there. Jared’s heart still beat against his chest at the same pace and his breathing remained unchanged as the younger man slept on unawares.

He understood his father, but he wasn’t him.

He loved Jared, but the boy had paid enough.

He wasn’t his father.

He would let him go.

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been tagged as such from the beginning, but let me remind folks that this story contains mpreg. And from this chapter forward, the topic will come up more often, although not in graphic detail. But it is now here to stay. I know that some people have commented that they normally don't read the trope, so I just wanted to post this additional reminder.

_ _

“Alaina!” Jensen bellowed, storming into her dark sitting room. “Alaina!”

Coming around the corner, Alaina was hastily tying the belt about her semi-transparent robe. Her normally elegantly coiffed hair was in a tangle of disarray. And she was strikingly absent any jewels. Swatting at an errant curl that dangled over an eye, as soon as she had taken in Jensen’s harried appearance, she sighed and tugged at her peignoir before lighting some additional lamps in the chamber, muttering softly.

“Once more you come to me unwashed, Jensen, and at such an hour. Unless this is a personal visit, you had better have a good explanation for rousing me. Make no mistake,” she paused and let her eyes scour his body from head to toe, “I am more than pleased to see you. Your week away agreed with you.” And she fluffed out the material of her clothing, meaning to make a great show of sitting down.

Jensen swooped close, grabbing her by her upper arm, and shook her hard. “I know what you did, Alaina,” he seethed between clenched teeth.

Despite her milky complexion, Alaina still managed to pale at his words. “What are you talking about, Sheikh?” And she tried to wrest her arm free but Jensen merely clenched his fingers tighter.

“What you did to Jared,” he said without elaboration.

“What _I_ did?” she laughed, however it was high and brittle. “I was not the one who whisked him off for a romantic tour of the countryside. If anything was ‘done’ to the lad, I can only assume you have to take full responsibility for it. Unless you shared him with your men?”

“I refuse to spar with you, woman. You are the one who arranged those damn piercings on his body.”

Her expression went through too many changes for Jensen to classify them all. Finally, she settled on her normal disdain. Cocking an eyebrow, she smirked. “That, my dear Sheikh, is all on you.” And she gave a hard yank to shake off his hand.

“And how was that my doing?” he grunted.

A hint of color began to return to her face as she lowered herself onto her throne of pillows. She carefully arranged her robe so that it fanned out prettily, seeming unperturbed at the way Jensen still stood and fumed at her.

“Your father’s father’s father handed down the edict that all his concubines should have adornments to enhance their beauty and his pleasure,” she explained calmly before casting him a perplexed glance. “It is de rigueur for us all. Really, you act so affronted and yet with all the slaves you’ve bedded so far, you should be used to the sight. You couldn’t possibly think it coincidental that they all, to varying degrees, had them, could you?”

Jensen clasped his hands formally behind his back, his clothes stiff with dust. There had been no way for him to have known that. Not only had he never taken any to bed, he’d refused or stopped any attempt any concubine had made to disrobe before him.

Except Jared.

He’d torn the clothes from his boy’s body and he cringed inwardly at that memory, partly from shame and partly from the base arousal it continued to evoke within him. Realizing that Alaina was still looking – assessing him, actually – too closely, he trained his face to one of slightly mollified anger. “I thought it was their choice.”

The corner of her lips twitched up and her eyes narrowed, but Alaina merely replied, “And just what choices do you think we have, Jensen? Would you like to see mine?” And she raised her hands to cup her own breasts, thumbs brushing against her nipples teasingly. “They are exquisite,” she promised him. “Your father favored rubies and I have a most interesting one in my –”

“Enough,” he shouted and turned about, giving her his back. The conversation was rapidly getting away from him.

“I could have more added to the boy, if you’d like,” she suggested almost mockingly.

“You won’t touch him again,” Jensen said as he spun around and stalked over to her, voice low and rumbling like a distant storm. “Not him or any of the others, do you understand? I want no one to be touched like that again.”

Alaina licked her lower lip, eyes widening in near comical innocence. “Whatever you desire, Sheikh,” she promised him. “After all, the harem is all about your desires. You only need ask and it is granted.”

Jensen controlled his breathing and forced himself to take a seat opposite her. He was concerned he’d already revealed too much of his ignorance and was unsure what she might do with her speculations. He knew his next remark might very well send her round the bend, but he would deal with it as best he could. “I am going to release Jared.”

“What?” she gasped, mouth dipping open unattractively. It was one of the first truly unguarded moments Jensen could recollect in her presence and reminded him of that eel in the lagoon.

“I am going to let the boy go,” he repeated himself, trying to make his voice sound firm and sure, which was so far from the mark regarding how he felt about that decision.

“No,” the First Kadin answered. “You are not.”

Jensen leaned forward, waist pressing against the table that separated them. “My desires, Alaina. My wishes granted,” he parroted her words back at her.

“It is simply not done, Jensen,” she enunciated carefully like he was addled from too much time in the sun.

“And why ever not?” he retorted.

Alaina opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. Pursing her lips together, she sank back against the cushions. Jensen thought it was in defeated resignation and he smiled broadly.

“Fine, let him go,” she agreed easily.

Jensen found himself drumming his fingers against the brass table, the dull thrum the only sound in the room apart from the delicate tinkle of the fountain to one side. Her capitulation was too quick and he knew it. “And?” he prodded her, waiting for some additional list of demands or stipulations.

“And nothing,” she replied airily.

It was Jensen’s turn to study her face for some sign of deviousness, but he found nothing. “Very good then,” he finally said, slapping his hands on his thighs and pushing himself to his feet. He was sweaty and tired, having only taken the time to see Jared to his rooms before thundering over here. He could use a bath and a good night’s rest.

 _With Jared curled beside me_ , he thought longingly.

“Good night, Jensen,” Alaina bade him from where she perched.

“Good night, Alaina,” he responded, turning to leave. He should have felt elated, should have felt lighter. Instead, he was merely waiting for the ax to fall like a condemned man.

“Oh, Jensen,” she called him back lightly, almost playfully.

_And here it is._

“What about the others?” the First Kadin inquired.

“The others?” Jensen asked, making a great show of stopping in his tracks and turning about.

“Yes, the others. Your harem. The seventy some men and women who are your bed slaves. What shall we do about them?”

A small muscle in Jensen’s jaw twitched. He hadn’t thought beyond Jared’s release. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t thought beyond Jared and Jared alone. “Let them go,” he grumbled finally.

Alaina’s kittenish manners melted away like a bowl of her precious sherbet left too long in the sun. “And what should they do, hmm? Where should they go?”

“Home,” Jensen said, but it sounded less like a directive and more like a question than he would have preferred.

“Some of these people,” Aliana responded, “have been here so long, they probably have no homes to return to if they even knew where to begin look for them. They have no skills, Jensen, save those mostly for serving in the bedchamber. Would you put them out onto the streets and make them into nothing more than common whores?”

He scowled at the word.

_“You would make me a whore, just like your mother?” Jared panted, outrage flushing his cheeks._

He shook his head against the recollection. Would he always remember that moment every time he heard that word spoken aloud, even from his own lips?

“We could find something for them,” he argued, walking over to her terrace. The night sky was just as velvety as it had been over their lagoon, but that already seemed so distant now that he had returned. His eyes drifted down to Alaina’s garden, nothing more than shadows and twisted shapes in the dim light. But clumps of white flowers bloomed upwards like fallen stars and the air carried their heady scent even to where Jensen stood. The fragrance was thick with strange promises.

“And what of the ones who wouldn’t want to leave? Who have dedicated their very being to this life? Would you strip them of their identity?” Alaina questioned softly, padding on bare feet to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

Jensen gripped the terrace railing in hands gone white in their rigidness and had no immediate answer.

“And something else you haven’t considered,” she started.

Jensen swung his head slowly in her direction, not wanting to hear her arguments but knowing she would have her say in the end.

“The Trucial Sheikhdoms.”

And that damned maritime treaty with England that was set to be signed near the end of the year. The one where the sheikhs would promise to cease waging coastal wars and allow British ships through their waters unmolested. Another “benefit” was that all tribal disputes would be decided by England then. Unbeknownst to Great Britain, however, was the agreement they had all reached amongst themselves to police their own people as much as possible and give England no cause to stick their nose in Qatari affairs. That was why they kept the Bani Yas in check. But what they had also agreed upon was to present a united front to England, a force of unified practices.

“And what will the other sheikhs think,” the First Kadin continued on, “if you decide to break ranks and throw away centuries of tradition at a time when we must all be of one mind? Where would that leave us in their eyes? Would you put the whole of your people in jeopardy over one boy?”

“Damn it all!” Jensen shouted, wanting desperately to rail at something or someone. He shoved himself away from the terrace and stomped back into the sitting room.

Perceptive as always, Alaina added, “When you leave here, make sure you walk through the Hall of Mirrors and take a long look there. I am sure you’ll come face to face with the villain you’re so desperately seeking.” She followed after him. “You’ve no one but yourself to blame for this, Sheikh.”

Jensen was ready to tear into her, but a small cough caught both their attentions. Standing near the doorway to the Kadin’s inner chamber was Jake. He looked even more sleep-rumpled than his mother, hair sticking up in all directions, and clinging to the doorframe tentatively.

Jensen whipped his head away, angry at himself all the more. His heated words had been loud enough to rouse the lad and bring him running, more than likely concerned over the argument brewing between his only family. Both he and Aliana had tried very hard to appear civil with one other for his sake and his alone. Who knew how much Jake had heard or what he thought of his big brother now? Ashamed to admit it, Jensen took the coward’s way out.

“I will come up with a suitable solution, Alaina. Let’s speak on this matter later,” and he whirled about, eager to escape back to his rooms.

“Jensen,” Jake called after him.

Looking back over his shoulder, Jensen tried on a smile for the lad’s sake. Alaina was already by her son’s side, arm draped over his shoulder, stroking up and down. “Sorry, little brother. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What is going on?” he asked, voice small and unsure and Jensen was struck with how much he sounded like Jared in that moment and he was harshly reminded that the younger man was only three years older than his half-sibling, still a boy himself.

“Nothing that won’t keep,” he assured Jake. “Go on back to bed as I know your mother wishes you would and we’ll speak soon. I promise,” he explained earnestly, hoping it would be enough.

“Soon,” Jake repeated, already allowing Alaina to steer him out of the room.

“Soon,” Jensen said again as Aliana shot him a stern glare.

He watched them leave the room and then he slipped into the secret passage to retreat to his bedchambers alone. He had entertained thoughts of having Jared join him, but now that he had nothing to give him in return, he would sleep alone.

 

_“Do you think you could?” Jared whispered against the skin of his neck, where he was tucked up against Jensen. The morning air was tangy and cool, caressing their bodies with whispered passes._

_Jensen knew what the boy wanted to hear, knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t yet bring himself to. His silence was telling enough even as he dragged the knuckles of his left hand up and down Jared’s spine._

_“Maybe one day?” he asked again, the brush of his lashes against Jensen’s jaw was innocently erotic. However, the trembling spoke of anything but desire._

_“Maybe one day,” Jensen croaked as he rolled onto his side to more fully face the young Englishman. “But you’ve paid enough, Jared,” he added, brushing the boy’s soft hair away from his eyes. In the pale light of dawn, they were as grey as the morning sea._

_Jared lowered his gaze and shook his head in the negative. “Can’t have. You would have forgiven me if it was enough.”_

_Unable to take the sadness he saw before him, Jensen cupped Jared’s face, rubbing his rough thumb over the fragile skin under the boy’s eye. “And what of me? Have you forgiven me?”_

_Jared drew his lower lip into his mouth and was silent for a long time. Jensen began to grow cold, fearing that what had happened between them the previous night had been nothing more than Jared’s desperate need for redemption. His eyes darted back and forth between Jared’s, dread spreading throughout his body like a slow tide._

_“I…” Jared eventually spoke, soft and low. With the din of the waves a steady background noise, Jensen had to strain to hear his boy. “I understand why you did what you did. And that helps,” he admitted haltingly, “but I haven’t forgiven you yet, either.”_

_And Jensen shouldn’t have expected more – didn’t deserve more – although that hadn’t stopped him from wanting it. Always wanting what he couldn’t have, it appeared._

_Rolling away from him, he heard Jared mumble, “But I will one day. I haven’t stopped loving you. I couldn’t even if I tried.” His voice was almost nonexistent at that point. “And I’ve tried.”_

_Jensen didn’t know what set his blood boiling more – the fact that Jared loved him or that he tried to stop loving him. As he took in that shoulder, which was now set as a barrier between them, he couldn’t stand the miniscule distance separating them. He reached over and hauled Jared bodily against him until not even a whisper could slip between._

_“Don’t stop loving me,” he growled, his command a threat and a plea in one._

_“Can’t,” Jared rasped and Jensen didn’t know he was hard and thrusting against Jared’s firm arse until he felt it push back against him, solid and needy. He leaned over his boy and helped the lad hook a hand under his right knee and hike his leg towards his chest, opening himself up for Jensen once more. He slid in easily, with Jared still ready and wet from their last assignation. Slipping into that warm, welcoming heat was like coming home and they both groaned in unison._

_As Jensen set up a timeless pattern of thrusting, he kept telling himself he would let Jared go. His heart, however, was telling him something else._

_“I’ll repair this, Jared,” he breathed hotly into the younger man’s ear. “I’ll set things to right.”_

 

And that was no longer a possibility. Gone was the easy release he had hoped for. He and Jared were mired in political collusions that were bigger than the sum of their parts. Jensen stripped out of his filthy clothes, bathed in a mechanical manner and climbed into his bed alone. Although his body was exhausted from travelling, his mind was still spinning like a whirling dervish and kept him restless for many hours yet to come.

When morning broke, he rose, exhausted from his brief respite. He’d had no great revelations during the night, no spark of inspiration to light his way. All he had known was how empty his bed had been. As he sat by a small table and picked at his breakfast, tasting nothing, he tossed inadequate ideas about. He didn’t know how he could gracefully extricate Jared from this bog of Jensen’s making, only that he had to do it. He might not yet have the exact details in place, but he decided he could start to put some plans into motion. Considering his choices carefully, he finally decided Assaf would be the one he could trust the most on the matter and had the odalik brought before him.

He was sitting beside his desk, toying with one of Jared’s pens when the other man entered his chamber. Dressed in black and burnt orange, Assaf was impeccably groomed as always. The man bowed deeply before Jensen and waited patiently for him to speak first. He couldn’t help but notice that although the other man tried to keep his eyes lowered, he stole furtive glances about the room. And then it dawned on Jensen that Assaf had never been invited here before. He had never wanted his childhood friend to misinterpret their relationship and, loath to ever speak of it, Jensen had simply avoided the situation by never having an audience with him here. He wondered if this might have been a mistake, or if his friend feared he would now have to service Jensen in a decidedly personal capacity.

Eager to set the other man’s mind at ease, Jensen said, “Please, Assaf, no need to be so formal. We were friends first.”

The odalik raised his head and graced Jensen with a small grin. “True enough, Sheikh.” His smile faded as he took in Jensen’s appearance. “Are you all right? You look wan. Shall I call for Richings?”

“No need,” he assured the worried man. “I had much weighing on me last night and that is why I called for you.” He dragged his hand through his hair brusquely. He’d not bothered with his kufiya and, judging by the shocked expression of the odalik, that breach of decorum was not lost on him, either.

“What can I do for you, Sheikh?”

Jensen sucked in a harsh breath through his nose. “First of all,” he said after exhaling, “you can call me ‘Jensen’ within these walls.”

Assaf’s eyes grew ridiculously round.

“You used to call me that all the time,” he continued more quietly, mind flashing back to the two of them dashing about the stables like little hellions. Assaf and the horses were the only bright spots in his life after his mother died and he closed his eyes briefly. She’d died, he repeated to himself. She hadn’t killed herself. She hadn’t left him by choice. It was all just a tragic accident. And Jared had been the one to grace him with that peace. He needed to do the same for his boy and smiled tremulously.

Unbeknownst to Jensen, Assaf took that smile to mean he was recollecting their friendship and thought it directed towards him. “Jensen,” he replied warmly.

Hearing his name snapped Jensen out of his daydreams. “Better,” he acknowledged with a nod. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Assaf agreed excitedly and Jensen felt a momentary twinge of regret, hoping the odalik didn’t think it was something of a physical nature.

Switching to English, Jensen continued, “You recall the clothes Jared was wearing when he was brought into the harem?”

The other man’s eyes dimmed slightly as he bobbed his head.

“What happened to them?” Jensen asked.

“They were too…damaged to be saved,” Assaf finally admitted in English and Jensen winced at what that implied.

“But you recall their style, don’t you?” he continued.

“Of course, Jensen.”

“I want you to go to the palace tailor as he should still know Jared’s measurements and have several suits made up in that style in Jared’s size. The clothing should be suitable for travelling and of the finest quality. And he is not to breathe a word of this project to anyone. There will be hell to pay if he does,” Jensen warned. “I will not be forgiving.”

Assaf dipped his head. “I understand. Shall I,” and he paused awkwardly, “instruct the tailor to make some similar items for you as well?” When Jensen remained silent, the other man shifted about uncomfortably. “Forgive my presumptiveness, Sheikh.”

Jensen shook his head briefly. “No need to apologize. It was a logical line of questioning. No, I have no need for clothes such as that. I am not going anywhere.”

Assaf stood straighter at that slip of the tongue. “I understand, Jensen,” he said, using Jensen’s given name, at ease once more. “I swear no one else will learn of this.”

Jensen studied his childhood friend closely. “I knew I could count on you.” He ran his fingers absently through his hair again. “And one more thing,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Yes?” Assaf waited patiently.

“Please have the _haznedar_ come round immediately,” he ordered the odalik, voice growing distant, “and make sure he has his ledger with him.”

“Do you…have need of someone?” Assaf requested inelegantly.

“No,” Jensen snapped back quickly and then softened his tone when he saw the other man twitch. “There have been some realities I have been ignoring and it is time to correct that,” he admitted.

“As you wish,” Assaf answered, bowing his head and offering an abbreviated salaam, before turning to leave. But before the odalik could exit the chamber, Jensen asked him for one more thing.

“Assaf, I should like to share a meal with you sometime in the near future,” Jensen told him, much to the other man’s utter amazement. “We were friends once and I would enjoy sharing recollections of that time with you again.”

Assaf ducked his head, trying to hide his growing smile. “I would be pleased to join you, Jensen.”

“Good. And bring me those items as soon as they are ready.”

“Yes, my Sheikh,” Assaf bowed. “It shall be done. And I will have the _haznedar_ brought right over.”

“Good,” Jensen said. His return to Arabic a clear indication their conversation was over.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Jensen poured over the ledger. At first, the _haznedar_ had been nearly unwilling to part with it, insisting to Jensen that he needed to keep track of all the comings and goings of the concubines for the sake of legitimacy of an heir, until Jensen had firmly explained in no uncertain terms that he would not be entertaining while he kept it. The old man had finally handed it over, with much grumbling and squawking. It took Jensen nearly an entire day before he cracked open the pages. But once he did, he began a thorough inventory in a ledger of his own, with the names of all the current concubines, the dates they had been inducted into the harem and from which slave market they had been bought.

It was a slow process. More than once, he had to call the haznedar back to have the wizened man “translate” a notation, his handwriting having begun to deteriorate over the last, few years. Jensen realized that he had met with roughly half the harem since he had taken up his father’s mantle. He barely was able to match names with faces for most of them, however, having wanted them gone nearly the moment they’d stepped within his bedchamber. A few he remembered, including Matthew and Genevieve. But most names meant nothing to him. He no longer thought that ignorance of his was such a noble trait as he’d previously convinced himself it to be.

And once he started, he found himself eventually revisiting his father’s history. It was reluctantly at first. He caught sight of his mother’s name and the familiar pain stabbed at his chest, only tempered now with the knowledge Jared had given him, rendering it bearable. Reading the entries, Jensen noted how after their first night together, his mother’s name rapidly increased in its appearance until finally it was the sole name up until her death. Discovering that she was the only one for his father loosened another knot in his soul. It wasn’t what Jensen had wanted with Jared at one time, but it was as close to a monogamous marriage as a sheikh in this country could have. He found himself tracing over his mother’s name – Roisin – with shaking fingers. His middle name was a nod to her “little rose” as “Ross” was Gaelic for a woody meadow. He smiled as his finger rubbed over and over the faded vellum, although the grin disappeared soon enough.

He had collected all the information he needed to begin his search for the concubines’ homes. Alaina was correct that some were probably gone. The oldest members were nearing fifty and they should have already been sent away to the residence for the old and infirm of the harem. But Alaina hadn’t pressured Jensen about that since, by rights, she should have been moved out when Jensen assumed his father’s position. But if he were to remove them now, what kind of homecoming could they expect? Did they still have living family who might remember them? And how would they take the long and potentially arduous travel to lands cold and unfamiliar to them? He slammed his own book closed and cursed Alaina for being right. This was an imbroglio of massive proportions and he had only just waded into the thick of it.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his aching spine. His body was stiff from sitting too long in one position. He hadn’t been riding with Jared since his return from the coast. In fact, he hadn’t seen the lad in over a fortnight. It had been far too simple to allow himself the indulgence of his current mission, telling himself this was the pathway to Jared’s eventual freedom. But he was also ashamed that he couldn’t keep his unspoken promise to his boy, so much so that he refused to linger near his terrace for fear of catching a glimpse of that beloved face. And like a conjured djinn, no sooner had he thought about the younger man did he hear sounds from the courtyard below, which could only be Jared and his companion.

_“Oh, like Gen uses on me,” he said, smoothing oil all over that delectable body of his._

He still grit his teeth at the familiar moniker, despite the fact that Jared found small comfort in her presence, or perhaps he did so because of it. Almost against his will, he slunk over to the drapes, telling himself he would observe them once and then call for the _haznedar_ to collect his precious ledger. Fingering the collar of his thobe uncertainly, he sidled up to the terrace entrance. What he saw shocked him.

Jared and Genevieve were in their usual spot, under the shade of the ghaf tree. But Genevieve had a tray with her and she offered several, different items to entice Jared with its contents to no avail. The Englishman shook his head, morose, shoulders slumped. His boy was dressed in the simple, unconstructed clothes he preferred – the only things in his wardrobe that weren’t obscene in their disclosure of his body to anyone’s casual perusal, Jensen’s conscience reminded him. Whatever color the lad had gained over the previous weeks seemed to have vanished utterly. Even from where Jensen had stationed himself, he saw how pale Jared had become. And though it was difficult to gauge with the loose clothing, Jensen suspected he had lost some weight when he already had none to spare. His frown grew as Jared stood up, stumbled slightly and left without a backward glance to Genevieve. The smaller woman dropped her head and shoved the tray away roughly. Before he had a chance to second guess himself, Jensen stepped out onto the terrace.

“Genevieve,” he said loud enough for her to hear.

The dark-haired girl raised a startled head. “My Sheikh,” she answered after regaining her composure, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun.

“Please wait there for me,” he ordered her. The woman was plainly confused, but masked it admirably with a gracious bow.

Jensen left his chambers via another secret stairwell that deposited him at the level of the courtyard. He stepped out and wasted no time approaching Genevieve.

“My Sheikh,” she repeated, giving him another, deep bow.

“I did not come here to force you to comply with unnecessary ceremony,” he admonished her. His concern over Jared made him harsher than he intended and he recognized that as soon as he had spoken. “My apologies,” he offered her and if he wasn’t so worried about his boy, her saucer-like eyes would have been a humorous point between them. But he had other matters at the forefront of his mind.

“Please, walk with me,” he asked her and waved a hand forward. He wanted to take no chance someone passing by the perimeter might overhear them. They strolled leisurely through the courtyard, ostensibly admiring the blossoms. Jensen kept a measured pace so that she might keep up with her shorter stride. Although it appeared random, Jensen intentionally walked them eventually over to the tray of uneaten food. Up close, he saw that Genevieve had a selection of fruits and yogurts – all mild foodstuffs easy for one’s digestion. And all of it was untouched.

“Is there a problem?” he asked bluntly, nodding once to the tray.

Genevieve moved from one foot to the other, her lips puckered like she’d tasted something sour. However, she remained steadfastly silent.

“I admire your loyalty,” Jensen continued when it was clear she would not. “You would deny me whatever knowledge you are keeping secret in deference to Jared. But know this,” he continued and his voice was adamant in its resolve. “If something were to happen to my boy because you hid something from me, there is nowhere you could hope to run from my wrath.”

Her mouth softened into a perfect “o” and she stopped fidgeting.

“Now tell me,” he ordered her.

She visibly swallowed before finding her voice. “For the last few days, I’ve heard him retching. Sometimes at first light, sometimes at night. He’s tried to hide it from me, but...” and she shrugged.

“And the food? Has he always been so particular?” Jensen asked, remembering how Jared had picked at many of his meals while they were together by the sea.

“He’s always been a light eater. I believe he still hasn’t completely adjusted to the heat and that’s affected his appetite. But,” and she paused again, before tossing her hair behind her shoulders and facing Jensen fully, “it’s been worse since his return.” She stared up at him and didn’t back down. The silent accusation was there. She believed Jensen had done something to Jared to hurt him, to make him slip into a malaise, as it were. And she was probably right.

“Please tell him he’s to join me for dinner this evening,” Jensen ultimately said. “Just dinner,” he added. “And do not tell him we spoke. He might forgive you breaking his confidence,” and Jensen was certain Jared would – the lad was too forgiving, as he well knew, “but I would not.”

“Yes, Sheikh,” Genevieve bowed and bent over to collect the uneaten food before rodents were drawn out by it. It was an ongoing problem despite the poison left out for them.

As she made to leave, Jensen cleared his throat. He had one more question for the woman, although he debated how accommodating she might be after his threat. But he had to know. “One moment more,” he said and watched as she tightened her grip on the tray, tiny hands that had touched his boy’s body. “You were born into this life.” He’d seen the notes regarding her father and the offer he had made of her to his father. Had he been born female, Jensen understood he might have faced a similar fate. There was little room for daughters to remain in the harem and they were traded about like bartering chips for favors and connections. Only sons remained, to fight over their inheritance amongst themselves. He wasn’t sure which fate was worse.

“Yes, I was,” she said, straightening in stature.

“Are you,” he hesitated, unsure of the precise word he needed and settled instead on the simplest, “happy in this life?”

The tiny woman struck out her hip and rested the bulk of the tray’s weight there as she pondered his question. “May I speak freely?” she finally asked.

“I prefer honesty over flattery,” Jensen told her.

“Are you happy in yours?” she inquired. Jensen pulled back his head in surprise. Her retaliatory question had been unexpected. Before he could respond, however, she carried on, “Is anyone happy in their life? I think we all strive for it and I am content in this one.”

“And if you could change something?” he prodded.

“If I could change one thing, it would have been the right to choose for myself where I went,” she admitted, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

Jensen’s full lips quirked into a smile. “And you wouldn’t have chosen me,” he finished for her. She blushed fiercely, but still stood her ground.

“That will be all,” he dismissed her. “And thank you, Genevieve,” he added sincerely.

She smiled in return and ducked her head before leaving with Jared’s uneaten meal.

Jensen continued to walk about the garden after she had left, pausing beside his mother’s roses. When he noticed a white one of particular beauty, he withdrew his janbiya and cut the rose, returning to his chambers afterwards. He placed it hastily in a cup of water and called for some of his servants. He had a meal to plan and little time to do it.

Several hours later, as the sun was melting into the golden horizon, Jensen was ready. He had decided to have the meal in the main receiving room, choosing to forgo using the smaller and more intimate side chamber. It had been a difficult decision when Jensen recalled that Jared had unpleasant memories of both spaces, but he believed the room where he thought he had been doomed to be mutilated was the worst of the two. And his bedroom was absolutely the wrong place, for as much as he longed to hold Jared in his arms again, the point of the evening was to check on his wellbeing, not make him feel as though he had to offer something in return to Jensen. Yes, he wanted him, but he wouldn't pressure the lad unduly. And he needed to make amends for having avoided him for the last fortnight. He couldn't present him with his freedom just yet, but he could give him something hopeful.

“Sheikh,” Worthy’s deep voice rang out.

Jensen turned and there was the Chief of the Eunuchs standing beside Jared and suddenly Jensen could breathe again. The guard had come alone and a part of Jensen was saddened that even his guards no longer viewed Jared as one who might flee. The boy was dressed in silks of deep blue, but styled like he had worn earlier, loose and shapeless. Most would have appeared average in that choice of clothing, but the garments only served to make Jared more tantalizing to Jensen, hinting at what lay beneath. And the color accentuated the blue in his ever-shifting eyes. It also called to the fact that he had smudges under them that spoke of too many restless nights of late. Jared offered him a smile, but it was small and sickly.

Jensen dismissed the dark-skinned guard with nothing more than a gesture, leaving him alone with his boy. He should have felt more at ease like that. Instead, it was the exact opposite. He stared at Jared while the younger man lowered his head, letting his longer fringe tumble into his eyes, obscuring them from Jensen’s appreciation. He twisted his slender fingers in and around themselves, uneasiness rolling off of him in obvious fashion. Jensen had to do something. Clearing his throat, he spoke up.

“Come sit with me,” he invited Jared, indicating the low table he had set up near his bookcases. His reasons for that location were two-fold: it was close enough to the terrace to let in the natural light from the setting sun and it would allow Jared to peruse Jensen’s personal library at his leisure, without the need to ask for permission. He had heard that Jared hadn't yet finished all the books he’d sent over to his apartments, but he thought there might be a tome or two of his that would tempt Jared and help pass the time as Jensen strove to diplomatically untangle the web he’d trapped Jared in.

Jared silently obliged him, sitting down where Jensen had led him. As Jensen sat opposite him, he couldn't help but grin as he watched Jared pick up the white rose he’d left for him on his place setting. The boy brushed his thin fingers delicately along the edges of the petals. “Like velvet,” he murmured. “This was one of your mother’s?” he asked guilelessly, finally meeting Jensen’s eyes.

Unable to articulate, Jensen merely nodded.

“Thank you, Jensen,” the lad whispered, holding the blossom to his chest.

He sniffed the bloom and smiled. But then his eyes wavered and he looked decidedly paler. Jensen was jolted out of his reverie and suddenly reminded why he had asked for Jared’s company. “Are you ill, Jared? You've grown quite peaked.” And he was tempted to reach over and grasp the boy’s hand. He held that desire in check, not sure if an unwanted touch would be appreciated. Everything was once again so stilted between them.

 _Because he is still your prisoner,_ that harpy of a voice echoed in his head. _There is a power imbalance between. He’s not your companion, not your lover, not your…_

Jared gingerly set the rose down and took a sip of water from the glass by his plate. His eyes fluttered shut as he did so and Jensen used the opportunity to study him more closely. The younger man’s face was gaunt and he had definitely begun to lose the golden complexion of a fortnight past. It dawned on Jensen that as he toiled away on his project to release Jared, he had not only denied himself of Jared's company, but he had deprived the boy of their daily outings. Those outings meant momentary freedom for the lad, of both his literal and figurative bindings. How utterly selfish Jensen had been in his cowardice. Afraid to disappoint Jared, he’d inadvertently punished him further all this time.

“I haven't been up to snuff this last week,” he admitted. “I think it’s the heat. Near as I can figure, we must be in the dog days of August by now. Hard to say, though.” He laughed in a self-deprecating fashion.

And Jensen frowned at Jared’s odd turn of phrase until, with growing horror, he realized that the lad no longer knew what day it was.

_“Watches, after all, are used to mark the passing of time. Time, my dear Jared, has now lost all meaning for you.”_

He knew he could at least rectify that grievous error. “Please excuse me.” When Jared regarded him with startled eyes, Jensen leaned over and stroked his arm. “There is something I’d like to give you. Return to you, actually,” he corrected himself. “It won’t take more than a moment.” Jensen then pointed to the bookcases. “The meal will arrive shortly, but if there is something you would care to read in the meantime, please…”

Jared nodded as Jensen walked towards his bedchamber. As he did so, he grew concerned that Jared might misinterpret his actions, considering what room he was about to enter, so he glanced over his shoulder, prepared to alleviate any concerns the lad might have. Jared had taken him up on his offer and was skating his fingers along the well-worn spines, not watching Jensen leave. He inhaled deeply, glad the boy was not overtly distressed about his departure. He was about to continue into the other room to retrieve Jared’s watch from his desk when he saw that Jared had raised a hand out to the books, not to retrieve one, but to grip the shelf as his balance was unexpectedly off.

“Jared?” he called out worriedly, already coming back. The Englishman rolled his head – sloppy and disjointed – in Jensen’s direction, eyes fluttering madly, and then he began to fold in on himself. Jensen covered the final distance between them in a few, mad strides and caught the boy before he could collapse onto the unforgiving floor.

“Jared,” he repeated, cradling the boy’s shoulders as he lowered him the rest of the way down. He tapped lightly against his cheek, but Jared didn’t wake. Caressing his face, Jensen noted his skin was cool and clammy despite the early evening heat that still lingered over everything. Without wasting another second, Jensen adjusted his arm until it was securely under Jared’s shoulders and slipped his left under the lad’s knees. He stood, holding Jared close, mildly surprised how slender and light the boy was despite his height.

He carried him into his bedchamber, climbed the dais and placed him in the center of his bed. Sitting near the lad’s head, Jensen swept the damp locks from Jared’s forehead. Despite his touches and entreaties, the boy didn’t stir.

“Worthy!” he yelled, while he kept one hand on Jared’s arm, rubbing up and down its length. Who he meant to soothe with the touch was unclear.

The guard was in his chamber within seconds, one hand on his sword and Wisdom not far behind. His impressive muscles relaxed marginally when he saw Jensen unmolested.

“Have Richings brought here immediately,” Jensen ordered in Arabic. “I don’t care what he’s doing. Drag him away from another patient if needs must.”

The chief bowed and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. Wisdom took up a position by the door and kept silent watch.

As Jensen sat beside Jared, he was the one who suddenly lost the ability to track time. Certainly hours hadn’t slipped through his fingers as he awaited the arrival of the doctor, but he was hard pressed to believe it. When the skeletal doctor was ushered into the chamber, case in hand, Jensen succeeded in biting back the urge to chastise the man for his tardiness. But it was a near thing.

Without ado, the man sat on the opposite side of Jared, placing his case beside the boy’s head. With a painfully thin hand wrapped around the unconscious lad’s slender wrist, fingers pressed firmly against the underside, Richings asked, “What happened exactly?”

Jensen recounted the events that led up to Jared’s surprising collapse, also mentioning what he knew of Jared’s disappearing appetite and the retching Genevieve had noticed. The older man hummed as he nodded along, never stopping his exam of Jared. Jensen balled his hands by his sides when the doctor peeled back one of Jared’s lids. Seeing his hands on such a fragile part of Jared twisted up his insides. Seeming pleased with what he had discovered, the man leaned over to his case, popped its clasp open and began to rummage around inside. He extracted a glass flask, pulled out the stopper and waved the item under Jared’s nose. The effects were nearly instantaneous. His boy’s eyes flew open and he pulled away reflexively from the container, choking and gasping. Jensen caught him by the shoulders, preventing him from thrashing about or hurting himself.

“Easy now,” he warned him softly. “It’s all right.” Jared cast frightened eyes up at him, confused and disorientated in his new location. “You collapsed and I brought you in here. Richings is taking good care of you,” he assured the scared lad, heart aching at the pitiful sight he presented.

“That’s right, Jared,” Richings confirmed in a soothing tone. “With your permission, I should like to examine you further and ask you a few questions.” Before Jared could answer, the doctor added, “Alone, of course.”

Jensen cast the man a hard glare, but was soon cowed by the steady look he received in return.

“Jared deserves his privacy,” the doctor told him.

Jensen scowled but grudgingly agreed. “I shall be right outside,” he leaned down to tell Jared, “in case you need me.”

With that, Jensen pushed off the bed and stepped out of the chamber, although he lingered by the door. He excused his guards, having them wait outside his apartments to escort the doctor back when he was finished with his exam. With them gone, Jensen began to pace back and forth across the room. The one time he paused to see if he could catch a glimpse of what was transpiring inside his bedchamber, he realized that Richings had drawn the muslin netting across much of the bed, shrouding them from sight. The most Jensen was able to make out was Jared, propped up on some pillows with Richings sitting beside him as they spoke softly.

Cursing, Jensen stomped around, detesting the feeling of helplessness that seemed to pervade his soul when it came to Jared being hurt. At one point, he nearly rushed back in when he was certain he caught a pained whimper that could only have been made by his boy. Turning abruptly, Jensen continued his path, sure to wear a track in the polished flooring if Richings took much longer. When he was sure it had been an hour, Jensen had had enough. He went towards the doorway only to nearly run over the doctor as he was stepping out.

“How is he?” Jensen asked, all anger and frustration melting away in the face of Richings’ unreadable face.

“All in good time,” he assured Jensen, which did nothing to actually assuage the sheikh’s nerves. “Wisdom," Richings said more loudly and the guard returned to the room. “I would like you to please take Jared back to his apartments, where he can rest comfortably.”

The tall man looked to Jensen, but before the sheikh could voice his objections and argue that Jared could rest perfectly well in his bed, the older man glowered at him. “Doctor’s orders. I’m afraid I must insist.”

Jensen flicked his hand at Worthy. “Do as the doctor _ordered_ ,” he practically spat. His Kızlar Ağası ducked into the room without sparing either man another glance. Jensen stood next to the doctor, silently fuming and still worried. However, he was prevented from saying a word as Worthy returned, hand curled helpfully around Jared’s arm. The lad was still pale, his eyes swollen and lips bitten near bloody. Jensen tried to reach out, but Richings stepped between them.

“Don’t forget to keep this on your person,” he told Jared kindly as he pressed a small container into the boy’s lax hand, “and use it as you feel the need. I will visit with you again tomorrow and we can talk further. And don’t worry,” he added, patting Jared on the hand that gripped the odd bottle, “I will explain everything to our Sheikh.”

Jared barely acknowledged Jensen, although he ducked and twisted his head, hoping to catch the younger man’s sorrowful eyes and offer him…something. But his boy kept his eyes resolutely on the floor as he was led from the room.

No sooner had the lad disappeared from view than Jensen exploded on the doctor.

“What the bloody hell was that all about?” he shouted in English. “What did you give him? And what is wrong?”

The doctor remained unflappable before Jensen’s angry tirade, simply biding his time for a lull in the storm so he could speak. “That was a vinaigrette I gave him,” he explained. “There is a sponge inside soaked with a mixture of smelling salts, vinegar and something a touch more pleasant to inhale.”

“Smelling salts?” Jensen was more than familiar with them, having seen his fair share of English ladies pulling a bottle from their reticule when overcome with the vapors. “He could faint again?”

“In all likelihood, I believe so,” Richings confirmed.

“What’s wrong with the lad?” Jensen asked, finding it difficult to swallow around the lump that had lodged in his throat. Could Jared be dangerously ill? Had his captivity caused him to develop a life-threatening condition?

“I think it is best if we sit down,” the doctor replied, calm and dispassionate.

His words only served to stoke Jensen’s growing fears. But he did as the older man suggested, sitting back down at the table which was still set for a meal he hadn’t been able to share with Jared. Worthy, practical as always, must have stopped the servants from bringing the meal round. Jensen waited, torn between anxious desire and outright fear at what the pronouncement might be.

With eyes suddenly compassionate and liquid, Richings allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “Jared is with child.”

Vaguely, Jensen recognized the practicality of the doctor’s suggestion to be seated. The bottom of his world suddenly dropped away and Jensen was falling. Jared was with child. Jared was carrying his child. Jared was a carrier. Jared had lied all along, used him and secured a position within Jensen’s world that was now unshakeable. The conniving, deceitful, little…

“He didn’t know,” the doctor was quick to guarantee Jensen. He had, apparently, said those last, few epithets out loud.

“How in the world does he not know he’s a carrier?” Jensen spat out, hands splayed flat on the table, needing an anchor against the insanity he was facing.

“Do you know how to identify one, Sheikh?” Richings asked him sedately.

Jensen’s lips furled in rage. All that time they’d spent by the sea had been a plot of Jared’s all along. His sudden shyness merely a different tactic since his wanton ways had failed to secure Jensen’s participation. How stupid could Jensen be, to be deceived yet again by the little chit?

“I am still waiting, Sheikh,” the doctor reminded him, gaze as steady as a rock.

“What?” Jensen snarled.

“You tell me how you know a man is a carrier,” the thin man elaborated.

Jensen opened his mouth only to close it with a clack so hard his teeth were jarred. He didn’t know. The only men he’d lain with were ones who had promised him they were not. He, like his father, had relied on the carriers to know their status. “I don’t know,” he ground out.

Richings full on smiled at the admission, nodding his head. “Of course you don’t. Most carriers are in the same predicament. There is no way, unless they are with child, to tell from just looking at the man.”

“Surely there are ways before then,” Jensen interrupted, stating what he thought was obvious. “Otherwise, how could a carrier assert his virginity to a spouse?”

Richings reached over for a fresh glass and poured himself a drink of water. “Excellent point. There are signs when the boy is growing up as well as family history, which can help in a diagnosis. Much like a girl,” he continued after taking a swallow, “there is an event that occurs when the boy is anywhere between ten and fourteen years of age that signals his transition into carrier manhood. He will suffer, to varying degrees, from excruciating stomach pains often accompanied by a high fever. This might last a week or more and is the only sign he will ever have. In my conversation with Jared, he admitted to a single, childhood illness that matched these symptoms.”

He suddenly heard James’ words ringing as clear as a bell.

_“When Jared was twelve, he became very ill. Raging fevers and terrible stomach pains. After a week without a respite, the family physician was called in to consult, but, according to my parents, the man was never able to properly diagnose what plagued Jared.”_

“When he was twelve,” Jensen whispered almost to himself.

“Most carriers are never properly identified,” Richings continued. “The odds of the common man discovering it unaided are ridiculously high. They must, obviously, be interested in men and must also prefer, or at least occasionally indulge in, sexual acts as the receptive partner. Then they must fall pregnant, which they notoriously do far less than their female counterparts. It takes the stars to align in such a fashion to conclusively determine their status.

“As you might suspect,” the doctor went on, “that doesn’t occur nearly as often as one might think. I firmly believe there are actually more carriers in the world than the current medical profession believes simply because of those obstacles in identification. And, most men do not have the access to the type of quality care that might successfully diagnosis their status. That’s why I was so puzzled by our young Jared. I thought he had come from a family of means. His doctor should have been able to at least present a suspicion of his status, if not outright confirm it.”

That childhood illness had been the driving factor in James’ desire to pursue the medical profession – a desire that had alienated him from his father. His father, who had been more than outspoken in his dislike of that dream. His father.

“His father,” Jensen exhaled, dragging a hand roughly over his mouth and beard. “His father knew all along.”

Richings nodded solemnly. “We suspect it is something the father has that is passed down. But not every carrier produces a son that is a carrier. Jared told me of his brother, who was never struck down by such a childhood malady as his. I believe the older sibling is probably not one.”

Jensen suddenly shot to his feet, the need to move burning through him. Jared was carrying his child. He and Jared had created a life together. It was almost too much.

“How did Jared take the news?” he whirled around and asked suddenly, recollecting the swollen, haunted eyes and bitten lips.

Richings steepled his hands and tapped them against his chin, considering his words. “I would say he is in a mild state of shock, which is completely expected under the circumstances. And he was frightened by what your reception of the situation was going to be, which is why I offered to explain his condition to you with his complete permission. This is understandably a life-changing situation and I think he will need some time to process all the implications of it.”

Life-changing. Jensen thought that was the understatement of the century.

“But,” the doctor continued thoughtfully, “I believe I witnessed some peace amidst the turmoil as though this settled something within him. I also promised him I would visit with him frequently. He has many questions, as I am sure you still do, regarding what he can expect to have happen to his body as this advances.”

“Yes, questions,” Jensen mumbled. “Do whatever you have to. Make sure he has everything he needs,” he added urgently.

“For now, I think the salts will help with his lightheadedness. It goes without saying, given that particular symptom, that he must not take any unnecessary risks. Horseback riding is completely out of the question, as is anything else too strenuous. I will put together a diet that should be tolerable, given his overly sensitive sense of smell. I suspect that is the root of his nausea and lack of appetite. Since he is quite literally eating for two, I will be monitoring his weight closely.”

“Everything he needs,” Jensen repeated.

The doctor rose gracefully to his feet, his black robes dragging behind him as he collected his case. He seemed to sense that Jensen had heard as much as he was able to process in the instant. “I am sure you will have additional questions,” he told the younger man. “You know where to find me. And I am available, day or night, should Jared need something. Please impress upon the guards that Jared can summon me without your prior approval.” And the doctor’s eyes bore into Jensen, as if testing the sheikh’s mettle.

“Absolutely,” Jensen agreed without hesitation.

“Good. I shall leave it to you to handle the public announcement of his condition as it will not remain a secret for long.”

The bottom of the world dropped again for Jensen, but he locked his legs in place and held strong. “Of course,” he rasped. “A public announcement.”

“Oh, and let me be the first to offer my most heartfelt congratulations. Whether you see it that way or not yet, this is gift for you both.” And with that, the skeletal man disappeared from the room.

Jensen was barely cognizant of his absence. He stood near his bookcases, scarcely aware that the last of the light had faded from the sky and the Maghrib prayer had already finished. His mind was awash in too many thoughts to latch onto a single one. But Jared’s status was at the fore. His boy was carrying his child. And George had kept that from him. George, who, if he understood the doctor correctly, might very well also be a carrier or at least possess knowledge of it in his lineage, had denied Jared the fundamental knowledge of his own person. Too concerned with fitting into the rigid structure of society, he willingly sacrificed his son’s potential for a family and tried to quash the dreams of his eldest out of fear of discovery. And look what he had reaped instead.

The flickering of the single lit lamp caused his eyes to drop to the pillows where Jared had been sitting. Resting alongside them was the white rose Jensen had gifted him with. Jensen picked it up carefully and brought it to his nose, inhaling the powerful perfume. Perfume so strong it had triggered Jared’s fainting spell. Because he was carrying Jensen’s child. A child that Jensen would have to acknowledge. A child Jensen would have to acknowledge publicly.

His child.

Jared’s child.

Their child.

Jensen’s _family_.

Closing his eyes against the sting that pricked at their corners, he wondered how he could ever possibly let Jared go now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter header is a portion of the lovely work by Togman-Studio on [DeviantArt](http://togman-studio.deviantart.com/art/Oriental-palace-175367159?comments_view=1), used with permission.


	28. Chapter 28

_ _

_November 11 th, 1853_

_Ankour Palace_

Jensen slumped at his desk, eyeing the small, locked trunk beside it. He didn't bother to fish out the key he wore on a small chain around his neck that was needed to open the chest. He’d inventoried it so many times in the past months that he could recite backward and forward every article of clothing it held in exacting detail. The immaculate, linen shirts with stiff collars and trimmed with pearl fastenings, smart waistcoats of the finest weave and fawn trousers, lightweight for the heat and sturdy enough for travel all in Jared’s size. Jared’s size from before.

Before.

Listlessly, Jensen tore his gaze away from it and tripped his fingers through the sheaf of papers that had collected on the battered wood of his desk. Requests for meetings with the other sheikhs, notices of planned actions against the Bani Yas and a variety of other missives all fallen by the wayside over the last three months. Jensen idly brushed his fingers against the worn grain, digits catching in the nicks and divots created by years of wear, like the thing was a touchstone. He’d slipped into a strange existence, where he was moving through his life without acting upon anything. Like Shakespeare’s morose Danish prince, he found himself paralyzed by indecision. The small key was an albatross about his neck. He knew what he should do, but that was a far cry from what he wanted to do.

 

_“He’s nearly ready, Jensen,” Alaina assured him. The First Kadin was surprisingly stoic throughout the preparations and Jensen was uncertain how to read her countenance of late._

_“I want this as much as you do, which is to say not at all,” she admitted quietly. “But he carries your child and as such, there are traditions to follow. In the end, we all must dance to the same tune.”_

_Alaina stepped back, her immaculate emerald silks only emphasized her luscious, henna-stained hair – a color that was apparently permanent. Off to her left, Jacob was also present, outfitted in robes of sky blue. Occasionally, he snuck a grin over to Jensen. He, in return, tried to mirror the affection he found there, but it was a struggle. The three of them, with a small contingent of eunuchs, stood in the Courtyard of the Concubines with the entirety of the harem present. Jensen, in his traditional black bisht and kufiya tied with a gold igal, was at the center of the gathering. The unrelenting, August sun rained down on him and unfamiliar moisture trickled along his neck to collect in the hollow where his collar bones met. He was sweating profusely, something he hadn't done since his initial return from England. Jensen rolled his shoulders slightly and moistened his full lips, eyes fixed towards the heavy drapes drawn across the entrance of the courtyard. They rustled from movement that had nothing to do with the faint breeze that graced them that afternoon._

_The haznedar took his place in front of Jensen and Alaina and read from his ledger, calling attention to the dates that Jensen had taken Jared from the harem for their trip to the coast. He mentioned Richings’ diagnosis and droned on about the sacred lineage, the blessings from the Creator and made the formal announcement that Jared was now carrying Jensen’s child – another potential heir to their throne. There was a collective gasp from the crowd and Jensen examined their faces closely. Some appeared shocked, others resigned, while a small percentage wore expressions he couldn't decipher, but seemed to bear no trace of good will in them. He made sure to commit those particular faces to memory, even if he couldn't place a name to all of them. The curtains were dragged back and Jared entered, flanked by Wisdom and Worthy, with Genevieve several steps behind him._

_Jared was naked from the waist up, so that his non-existent stomach was on relatively full display. He had balked at the addition of any new henna tattoos on his skin as the others had finally faded and Jensen had been happy to oblige him that reprieve. Instead, he was draped in gold. A series of woven necklaces and medallions, almost as impenetrable as chain mail, covered his chest, the lengths of some of the pieces dangling in a tantalizing manner over his navel and tinkled as he walked. A few strands looped down his bare back, ending at the delicate small where Jensen longed to rest his hand. His boy wore another section of gold mesh two inches wide with a design so fine it might have been cobwebs, wrapped about his head like a circlet, a single chain dropping down on either side of the corners of his eyes like tear tracks. On his long, willowy arms were a few bracelets, some wrapped about his biceps while others encircled his slender wrists. All of his fingers bore rings with jewels of varying sizes. Rubies, sapphires and emeralds flashed colorfully in the remorseless sun. In direct opposition to the opulence above his waist, what lay below was sparse in decoration. Jared wore a pair of pants in black silk, shockingly plain in comparison to everything else, gathered tight at his bony ankles. And his feet were bare._

_Though the borrowed gold breastplate was a signifier of wealth and prosperity, all Jensen saw were more chains binding Jared to a life he hadn't chosen – chains that bound him irreparably to Jensen’s side. The wizened haznedar was droning on about a blessing and it took all of Jensen’s fortitude not to scream. He had absolutely no idea what Jared was possibly thinking, since he’d been practically barred from the lad’s presence since the confirmation of his condition in some strange parody of not seeing the bride before the wedding night. And although Jared was about to be proclaimed Kadin, this was no true marriage between them. Certainly not one of Jensen’s choosing. It was nothing like the life he had wanted to offer his boy. And yet here they were._

_Jared was escorted to Jensen's side. Alaina leaned over and covertly whispered, “He should kneel before you,” into Jensen’s ear. Assaf, trailing the First Kadin on her right, made a move forward. Jensen had no idea if the other man had planned to force Jared down. It mattered not to him. He stepped in front of the odalik, blocking his approach, and clasped Jared’s hand. He gently coaxed the boy close, so that he was eventually pressed up against Jensen’s left, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. A strange laugh fought to escape his throat as he once again noticed how tall Jared had grown since they had first met. Even with his rounded posture, the lad still had an inch or two on him._

_Trying for some semblance of control, Jensen let his eyes wander about, but found nothing comforting to catch his gaze. He dropped his head and couldn’t help but stare at Jared’s feet. The lad had elegantly curved arches and long toes. They appeared so vulnerable on the polished squares of white and black marble. But all Jensen really saw was the way Jared, hands bound and feet strapped to a plank, had writhed and grimaced in pain each time that Wisdom and Worthy had struck him. How even from a distance, Jensen couldn’t help but see how raw and blistered his soles were as each blow striped the flesh there deep red. How each strike made Jared bite his lip bloody, how…_

_“Give me some shoes,” he barked out in Arabic, startling the haznedar into silence. The concubines murmured restlessly until finally Genevieve stepped up, holding a pair of sandals that were unmistakably in Jared’s size. He collected them gratefully, gracing her with a fleeting grin, before he stepped in front of Jared. Then, to the utter amazement of those in attendance, he sunk to his knees before his boy. With some gentle coaxing, he managed to get the shocked lad to raise first one foot and then the other as he slipped the thin shoes on his feet. Satisfied that Jared was no longer quite so demeaned and defenseless before the others, Jensen stood and motioned for the old man to continue his monologue. Alaina glared at him, while Jared wouldn’t meet his eyes. And Assaf appeared mortally wounded by the breach in protocol. Jensen, however, couldn’t be bothered to give a damn._

_Soon enough, the ceremony was over and he and his Kadin were escorted, with pride, pomp and circumstance, back to Jensen’s chambers where they were left alone. His rooms had been given unusual attention in the meantime. The small, sunken pool in his main receiving room had flower petals scattered over the surface. And a trail of flowers led from that room into his bedchamber, where more petals littered his bed, the muslin netting and covers pulled back invitingly. Lamps were lit in several corners although sunset was still hours away and a variety of foods and drinks were spread out over two, small tables. When Jensen was bold enough to look at Jared, he didn’t like what he discovered. The stillness was unsettling and Jensen was unsure how to proceed._

_“Do you need to sit down?” he asked. Jared flinched slightly, apparently as startled as Jensen was by the harshness of his voice._

_“I think I should like to take these off,” the boy whispered and waved a hand at the gold on his chest._

_“Come,” Jensen told him even as he placed a hand on the lad’s elbow. Jared’s coloring was off and standing in the sun, nervous and laden down with a ridiculous amount of metal had not done him any favors._

_When Jared noticed what room Jensen had led him into, his steps stuttered. “It will be easier for me to help remove those things if you’re seated and, frankly, your complexion leaves much to be desired. I’d feel better if you were on the bed for this.” He knew his words sounded cold, but he couldn’t get the sight of Jared collapsing to the ground out of his head. Richings had informed him there had been no further incidents like it, but Jensen’s worries remained. And worry made him sharper than he was wont to be when he spoke to the object of said concern._

_Jared raised a tentative hand up to his cheek when Jensen mentioned his complexion, but said nothing. He was docile as Jensen stepped up the dais with him and urged him to sit on the edge of the bed. Jensen removed his headdress and outer robe carelessly, letting the garments fall to the ground willy-nilly. Echoing his earlier actions, he once again kneeled before his boy. He accepted the rings that Jared slid off his fingers himself and placed them off to one side of the dais. He watched as Jared first removed the bracelets and then the larger armbands from his biceps. Jensen placed them with the rings, never once tearing his eyes off of Jared._

_With uncertain fingers, the younger man traced the path of the circlet around his head, searching for the catch. Having no success, he tugged on the fragile looking piece, hissing as several strands of his hair, which were wound throughout the mesh, were yanked thoughtlessly._

_“Here, let me,” Jensen offered, catching Jared’s frantic hands and stilling their movements. Jared sucked in his lower lip, nodding a single time. Jensen lowered his head and tried to catch the boy’s eyes. When he did, he discovered the hazel pools were dark and clouded. Inhaling deeply, he moved from the floor to the bed, sinking down next to him on the plush mattress. “Turn your head,” he instructed the younger man. Jensen spotted the clasp, but it was still an awkward angle to work with and not easy to free without tugging on Jared’s nut brown locks._

_“Hold on a moment,” Jensen said, patting Jared on the shoulder. He pushed himself back until he was completely on the bed. Shifting around, he got his knees under himself and “walked” that way until he was behind Jared. From above, it was easier to manage the circlet. “Lean forward,” he urged, with a hand on the boy’s nape, applying gentle pressure to force his head in a downward direction. A whiff of clove mixed with oud wafted up and Jensen wanted to bury his nose in those slightly sweaty locks, lick at the damp curls stuck to his nape. But he kept his focus on fiddling with the release and eventually got it loose. He worked it free of Jared’s hair, fingering the soft strands as he went, making sure nothing was pulled out until it was finally off his boy. He tossed the thing aside like it was nothing and clasped Jared’s shoulders, lowering himself until his lips pressed against the curve of the lad’s left ear._

_“Stay,” Jensen urged him, “and I’ll undo the rest.”_

_Seeming to be unable to trust himself to speak, Jared jerked his head up and down instead. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly as his breathing sped up. The tension was palpable._

_Jensen smoothed his hands up and down Jared’s arms while he studied how the chains connected with each other. On closer inspection, he grasped that it was more of a harness than a collection of metal strands and necklaces. He adjusted his hands so they tripped down Jared’s side, tracing the subtle, black leather straps that formed the framework for the harness and passed under the Englishman’s arms. The younger man shivered at the touch and Jensen stole an instant where he brushed his nose along the tender skin behind his ear, breathing in the scent of his boy. It was intoxicatingly and so easy to get lost in. With extraordinary effort mixed with regret, he forced himself back to the task at hand. He rubbed his thumbs up the length of the straps where they disappeared in a jumble of metallic strands like some Gordian knot. With enough patience, he unraveled their mysterious connections and was able to remove the whole of it like taking off a shirt in reverse._

_Hefting the thing back and forth between his hands, Jensen marveled at its weight. As he climbed off the bed to lay it out on top of a chest at its foot, he caught Jared, from the corner of his eye, surreptitiously trying to kneed his right shoulder and roll his spine. He clambered back onto the bed as soon as he had rid himself of the “family jewels” – as Alaina delighted in calling the gold breastplate – and without fanfare began to rub the tense muscles he discovered along Jared’s neck and shoulders._

_Neither said a word for a time and yet the silence never grew heavier. As Jensen settled in behind Jared, another, much finer golden chain caught his attention. As delicate as a strand of thread, Jensen began easing it around Jared’s long neck, searching for the clasp. But Jared’s hands flew up and covered the length protectively._

_“Please don’t take it,” he whispered._

_Jensen shifted around. Although Jared was still nestled mostly between his thighs, Jensen had adjusted his position enough to peer around the younger man’s left shoulder. From that angle, he saw that dangling from the end of the chain was the golden pearl they had found on their trip. Jared had had someone from the household drill and string the pearl for him and had worn it beneath the gaudy trappings of his new station. Jensen reached out and touched the golden orb, the corners of his lips tugging upwards of their own accord. And then he let his gaze drift down the lad’s bare chest, nipples rosy and peaked, free of any piercings. His hand followed his eyes and finally rested on the flat plane of Jared’s stomach. The muscles quivered beneath his touch, but Jensen was lost in the realization that he held his family in his arms – his child was just below the surface, protected and nurtured by his boy._

_He didn't know how long he sat there with his hand pressed gently against Jared’s skin. When he felt a ripple under his palm, his head shot up. Jared was trembling and Jensen removed his hand only to catch the lad’s chin when he tried to hide from his view. There were so many things Jensen longed to say, questions he needed to ask, but nothing sounded right within his mind. Instead, he followed his heart and closed the distance between them, catching Jared’s pale lips with his. There might have been a moan that came from him; there might have been a whimper that came from Jared. But all of it was lost in the rush of skin against skin. Jensen combed the fingers of his left hand through Jared’s hair, pressing firmly against his scalp and cradling the base of the lad’s skull. He pulled up his right leg so that it was propped up on the bed and began to slowly press Jared into the scattered petals, never breaking off their kisses for an instant. The scent of roses filled his nostrils._

_Hauling Jared more fully up onto the bed, he stretched out alongside him. They traded desperate kisses as his hand teased over one nipple. The little bud tightened up as he rubbed his calloused thumb back and forth over it, Jared squirming all the while. “So responsive,” Jensen breathed against the lad’s lips. “So perfect for me.”_

_He mouthed along Jared’s jaw, licking up the strong line before he changed course and dragged his bearded cheek down the length of Jared’s throat, which worked convulsively at the touch of his rough face. For his part, Jared’s hands fluttered up and down Jensen’s back as they tried to work their way under his thobe, the light touch teasing and incendiary by turns. When Jensen’s lips swallowed the lad’s other nipple, Jared arched under his ministrations, head thrashing from side to side and hands scrabbling at the sheets. Jensen pulled off with a slick pop and moved more fully onto Jared’s body, hastily unbuttoning his shirt as he did so until it hung open, enveloping them both. He clasped the younger man’s wrists and eased them up over his head while he rolled his hips against Jared’s, feeling a growing hardness to match his own erection. It was delicious to slide against him, knowing Jared no longer had to wear the cage, having been granted a temporary reprieve from the chastity device for the duration of his condition. It wasn’t a solution, but Jensen would take it for the time being. When he had the boy’s arms nearly fully extended, he meant to lean back in to devour his mouth, but the sudden stiffness beneath him had nothing to do with arousal. Jared’s breath had quickened unevenly and his eyes weren't glazed over in lust – he was afraid._

_It took Jensen a minute to catch his breath as he slowed the rhythmic pulse of his body, which had no desire to obey his brain. And then he recognized the issue. He had Jared in a near parody of the last and only time he’d had the lad in this particular bed. No wonder the boy had grown cool to his advances. He couldn't begin to fathom what memories this was stirring within Jared. Jensen let go of the younger man’s wrists and propped himself up and off his body in one motion. “I'm sorry,” he rasped as he helped Jared sit up. The sudden change in position wasn't too agreeable with the lad, and he wavered from side to side. Jensen wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held him until he steadied. Although the late afternoon sun was dipping low in the sky and burning a path of tangerine and amber in its wake, it was still warm, but Jared’s skin had pebbled in goose flesh. Without a second’s pause, Jensen finished undoing his thobe and shucked it off. He wrapped Jared up in it, helping him to slip his arms inside. They sat, shoulder to shoulder again, in silence._

_“I'm sorry, Jared,” Jensen eventually said again. “This,” and he paused, letting out a great breath, “is nothing like I had planned.”_

_And proving once more that he and Jared were connected, the boy understood all that was unspoken in that admission. “This is no marriage,” he replied, “is it?” His right hand cradled his stomach protectively and Jensen was curious if the lad was even aware he'd done that._

_“Not like you understand it to be,” Jensen said. “Not like I had wanted it to be,” he confessed, more subdued._

_“May I go back to my rooms?” Jared finally asked, fingers working the fastenings of the thobe nervously._

_“Yes. You don’t need to ask.”_

_Jared cocked an eyebrow at him. His eyes were nearly crackling green in the late light. “Has something changed? Since when don’t I need to ask for everything?”_

_Jensen had no answer for that. He’d not entertained a thought about the boy’s release since the surprising discovery of Jared’s condition last week. He supposed he would need to turn his mind back again to finding a way to extricate Jared, who was now a Kadin, from all of this._

_“You never have to ask to leave my chambers,” Jensen promised him. “I will never force myself upon you like that again.” And he wouldn’t. However, he could do little to stop himself from remembering how Jared had acted with such abandon despite the circumstances. The boy had confessed, when they were by the sea, that he had partaken of spirits before he’s been “presented”, but Jensen didn’t believe that had been the entire reason. There was a sensual wantonness simmering within Jared that spoke to him. Like a colt needing to be taken in hand, Jensen burned to be the one to do that with his boy. But only if he was willing. Anything less would be meaningless._

_Jared shot to his feet like the bed had caught fire. “I should like to leave then,” he stammered with a lingering glance at the rumpled sheets. “I should think you’ll have no trouble finding other, willing bedmates from the harem, so my absence should be hardly notable.” And he turned away, wrapping the ends of the thobe tightly about his body. Shocked, Jensen only watched for a minute, trying to make sense of the sudden change in demeanor. Jared ran hot and cold like the desert itself at times. But even as he sorted through the boy’s words, his eye widened as he caught Jared dipping his head to the side and inhaling deeply. He was breathing in Jensen’s scent even as he demanded his release. His shock only grew as Jared then squared his shoulders and left the room on his own._

_Jensen, shirtless, caught up with his boy as Jared was opening the main chamber doors. As ever-present as a shadow on a sunny day, his Chief of the Eunuchs was waiting. The tall man remained silent, although his eyes flicked from Jensen’s half-nude state to the shirt Jared had twisted about himself._

_“I am ready to go back,” Jared said easily in Arabic._

_“Wait,” Jensen countered in English. Jared’s back grew rigid, but Jensen placed a gentle, tentative pressure at the small and nudged Jared around. The lad shuffled, albeit reluctantly, back towards him. Jensen stepped in closer. The younger man held his ground, although his hand tightened in the folds of the shirt he had bunched up in his grasp._

_“Have I ever lied to you, Jared?” he questioned softly._

_Jared’s chest rose and fell quickly. He looked first to the other portion of the room and Jensen winced when he understood the boy was studying the floor where he’d been on knees before Jensen. “No, you have kept every promise you ever made to me,” he said, voice strong in his convictions._

_Jensen grimaced as he gave a sharp jerk with his chin. “Then believe this,” he practically hissed as he stepped right up against his boy. He tilted his head slightly up as he exhaled hotly into Jared’s ear, “There has never been anyone but you in my bed like that and there will_ never _be anybody but you in my bed like that.”_

_He stepped back as Jared’s mouth opened slightly. “Remember that,” he said as he turned to Worthy to add in Arabic, “The Kadin would like to return to his rooms.”_

_Worthy nodded and motioned with his hand for Jared to come along. Jensen had made sure that the guards understood in no uncertain terms that the only times that they had permission to touch Jared was if he seemed unsteady on his feet or if his health was otherwise in jeopardy. If they wished to keep their hands, then they needed to keep them off._

_As Jared was escorted out, Jensen closed the doors and sunk back against them, deflated. What a poor wedding gift to offer his boy – that he had been the only recipient of Jensen’s unwanted overtures and that he would always be the only one Jensen wanted. He reached down and peeled a rose petal free, which had become stuck to the skin of his chest, barely resisting the urge to crush the fragile thing in his fist. He had made his bed and now there was nothing to do but lie in it. Alone._

 

And here he sat, three months later, with little changed. He had made a half-hearted effort to find a solution to Jared’s release that all parties, to wit, Alaina and the other sheikhs would find amenable. But there was nothing he had learned that would allow him to simply let Jared go and not cause a fissure in the foundation of their society at a time when they could ill afford to be anything but united. They had to hold onto as much of their autonomy as they could in the face of threats from too many simultaneous fronts. With the Ottoman Sultan eyeing them, Bahrain refusing to loosen their grip and England breathing down their collective necks from the sea, his people’s position was precarious at best. And Jensen took some comfort – as he studied Jared from the false anonymity of his terrace – that he had done and was continuing to do everything in his power to find a path to freedom for him. But, in his darker moments, when he was in his cups and honest with himself, there was a part of him that thrilled to the fact that there was seemingly no escape for Jared – his family was safely under his purview and his alone.

Standing up slowly, Jensen stretched out his stiff limbs. He had been sitting in one place too long again and his muscles reminded him that it had been longer still since they’d been properly worked. Although it was not too noticeable, Jensen had begun to lose some form. When Richings had forbidden Jared to continue riding, he knew Jared had been morose. Their forays into the desert had been the only escape for the lad and that was not an option any longer for him. His only taste of freedom had been yanked away. Although he had no idea if Jared knew it, Jensen stopped riding as well then. It had nearly made him physically ill to have that luxury when Jared couldn’t. He hadn’t neglected the horses, however. In fact, he used the excuse of needing extra help to enlist Jake’s assistance. Under the assault of her son’s wide, blue eyes, Alaina had melted and readily agreed. She’d been as distant as Jensen had after Jared’s condition was known and Jensen happily enjoyed the reprieve. So he spent weeks teaching Jake about the bloodline and how to work the horses like they needed without seating a single one himself. And in this roundabout fashion, Jensen was able to at least keep one of his promises.

A sudden burst of laughter rang out. Jensen stepped over to his usual spot at the darkest corner of his terrace and spied on the source. Sitting bellow their favorite tree, Jared and Genevieve sat together. That was hardly unusual. Without any other access to fresh air, the pair had returned to their normal routine of spending time in the Courtyard of the Favorite after their midday meal. Although Jensen could have moved Jared to more opulent quarters since his rise to Kadin, the boy had asked to remain where he was, having grown somewhat attached to the apartment. This, at least, Jensen was able to grant him, assuring him he was still a Favorite and no other would take his place. Jared had smiled at him, but it was a shadow of his former self and Jensen visited less and less with him, unable to face that abiding bleakness that rested just below the façade of his boy’s every action. Guilt and indecision eventually kept Jensen at arm’s length. But watching the subtle changes in Jared’s body kept him an intruder in his own home.

While seeing the two of them together no longer stoked the flames of his jealousy, he did start at what he saw below. Genevieve had her hand on his boy’s stomach and he had his larger one enveloping it, pressing it closer.

“Did you feel it that time?” Jared asked and even from where Jensen skulked about, he couldn’t miss how bright the younger man’s eyes were.

“I think it is simply indigestion, Jared,” Genevieve giggled, wriggling her hand free. “You did eat a prodigious breakfast.”

Jared laughed and swatted at her shoulder. “I did not. And you’ve no room to talk.” He leaned over and poked her small belly. “For being so tiny, I have no idea where you shovel away all that food. At least I,” he paused, patting his only slightly rounded stomach, “have an excuse.” He snatched her hand back again. “How about now?”

Genevieve left her hand in place, but shook her head. “Nothing,” she told him. “What does it feel like to you?”

Jared closed his eyes and leaned his head back, bathing his face in the bright light. “Like the flutter of butterfly wings.”

Jensen clenched his hands even as his heart ached. Jared was…joyful despite his situation or perhaps because of it. He couldn’t say with any certainty how Jared might have fared in his captivity (Jensen no longer shied away from the word for the crime he’d committed) otherwise. In the last two months, despite some of the illness, which Richings had been quick to inform Jensen was completely expected and actually a sign of things progressing normally, Jared had begun to blossom. There was no other way to describe the happiness that began to creep back into his face despite his predicament. And Jensen hated himself all the more as he stood by, a self-imposed spectator to it all.

He learned, secondhand, how Jared made sure to eat as instructed and more than once, he spotted the lad walking around the garden with Genevieve close by and his guards reported seeing him marching through the corridors and hallways at other times of the day. So Jared was exercising as much as he could, given his physical restrictions to remain within the palace walls. Hand-me-down bits of information were cold comfort to Jensen, but he took what he could.

“I think I shall go back,” Jared announced as he carefully got to his feet. His voice was louder than necessary and echoed oddly throughout the courtyard. “Will you remain for a while?” he asked his companion, who had made no move to leave.

“I think I will for a bit longer,” she answered by rote.

Jared nodded and left the garden without looking back, his gait sure and steady.

It only took Jensen a minute to descend the hidden stairs and enter the courtyard after his departure. Genevieve was playing with the hem of her gown while she waited.

“How is he?” Jensen questioned her in English without preamble.

Genevieve raised her head and smiled. “I think you can guess, Sheikh,” she replied, her answer absent any trace of coyness.

Jensen sighed and dragged a hand carelessly down his mouth and beard. “Happy,” he answered her, although it still sounded like a question.

She nodded. “He feels the babe shifting about, even though I think it is too early for that,” she told him. Genevieve reached up and pulled the pins from her hair, shaking it loose. “Ah,” she groaned. “That feels much better. I am so weary of tying myself up in knots for appearances sake.” She flipped her long hair about until it hung down her back in thick waves. “Aren’t you, Jensen?”

He scowled at her. It was a brazen thing to call him by his given name despite the fact that he had urged her to do so on more than one occasion when they were alone like this. “I don’t understand your meaning,” he answered her instead.

Genevieve huffed and drew herself up. Even though she barely reached his shoulder, the woman stood tall in Jensen’s presence. “I am tired of being treated like that cracked wall between Pyramus and Thisbe. If you want to talk to Jared, then talk to Jared.”

Jensen spun around, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She huffed audibly. “The two of you are equally to blame, with your foolish games dragging on for _months_. Months you won’t recapture. You come to me like a beggar, scrounging for crumbs and he,” she paused, “he knows that I linger here every day to pass along those morsels. I honestly don’t know which of you is the worse one. But enough is enough.”

He stood there, chest heaving, until her delicate fingers wrapped around his bisht and tugged. With some reluctance, Jensen turned back around. “Talk to _him_ ,” she implored him. “That is all that he longs for. That is all you have to give him.”

Jensen’s face crumbled. “I can’t tell him what he needs to hear,” he conceded dejectedly. “I can’t give him what he needs.”

She smiled sadly, hand drifting down to his forearm entreatingly. “And how would you know what he needs if you don’t talk to him and, more importantly, _listen_ to him?”

Jensen opened his mouth and then closed it abruptly. Any excuses he might have offered were hollow ones that had kept him bitter company over the last three months. He couldn’t deny how it had wrenched his heart to see Jared place Genevieve’s slender fingers on his skin to search out his child’s movements. He longed to discover that proof of life himself and he had only himself to blame for everything he had already missed. Enough _was_ enough. She was correct in that.

“I will talk to him,” he promised her, vowing to no longer be a victim of his own inertia. He was decidedly no Hamlet and silently vowed to stop behaving as such.

“Good. It is settled then,” the tiny woman before him said with a snap of her head. “Now.”

Jensen stared at the brazen woman, who had placed her fists on her hips and was glowering at him. _Glowering_ at her sheikh. He couldn’t help but smirk despite her blatant disregard for etiquette.

“You’ve used me shamelessly for months now,” she said as though she were a soothsayer. “I have earned some latitude after that.” All the while she pulled and cajoled him to follow along as she left the courtyard, Jensen reluctantly in tow.

“Latitude?” he asked her, surprised by the word choice.

She shrugged her shoulders all the while unrelenting in efforts to move him along. “Jared and I have been practicing our language skills.”

As they climbed the stairs to Jared’s rooms, Jensen was unsettled. The last time he had been near them was when he had lingered in the doorway, supervising the removal of that eyesore of a wardrobe while Jared – blinded and hurt – languished in the bed. He had been determined then to not have his boy be reminded in the slightest of George’s choice in punishment if he could help it. He licked his lips nervously, unsure what his reception might be, but determined to push ahead as Genevieve opened the doors to their shared rooms.

“Jared?” she called out.

“Back so quickly?” Jensen heard him reply, voice muffled, but sounding disappointed. That further led credence to Genevieve’s claims that he knew full well why his attendant loitered in the gardens every day. “If I would have known,” he continued, voice growing louder as he neared, “I would have saved you some of that delicious sherbet that was sent along.”

“Sherbet?” Genevieve inquired.

“A delicious lime concoction. And it was so cold,” he said with childish wonder. “I have no idea how they managed that in this climate, but…” he trailed off and a groan soon followed.

“I told you that you ate too much,” Genevieve teased, urging Jensen more fully into the room. “Serves you right for not setting any aside for me.”

“It wouldn’t have kept,” Jared continued, stepping into the main chamber. He was smiling wide and Jensen was helpless not to respond in kind to the sight.

For several seconds, no one spoke. Jared’s grin didn’t fade, so Jensen took that as a hopeful sign as he advanced on the lad. “I hope you don’t mind the unexpected intrusion,” Jensen began as he stepped farther into the room. His own grin faltered somewhat as Jared’s expression continued to remain fixed. “Is this all right?” he finally was compelled to inquire.

“Jared?” Genevieve asked, her voice no longer the strong one from the courtyard.

Jared persisted in smiling, his face set and unmoving.

Jensen was growing uneasy, “Jared?”

But before he could utter another word, the object of his attention dropped to the ground, too fast and sudden for either of the others to break his fall. Jensen ran forward, crashing to his knees before his boy. “Jared!” he shouted, but the lad’s expression hadn't wavered despite his frightening collapse. As soon as he laid both his hands on the younger man’s shoulders, Jared’s body shook in harsh spasms.

“Jared!” Genevieve cried mournfully as she knelt beside his prostrate form, hands waving over him as though she didn’t know where to place them.

Twisting about, Jensen clasped her shoulders and shook her violently.

“Get Richings now!” he shouted into her face. She snapped out of her daze at the command and scrambled to her feet, disappearing from sight.

Jensen whirled back around only to watch helplessly as whatever convulsions had seized Jared were only growing in strength. Without thinking, he slipped his hands under the lad and scooped him up into his arms. Jared screamed, although it was an awful, strangled sound. He didn’t seem to be able to open his mouth any further than his frightening grin allowed. Jensen staggered over to the bed. It was difficult to manage, given the way Jared’s body fought and spasmed against him, but Jensen deposited him safely onto the softer surface. His hopes that the change in location might soothe whatever ailed his boy were quickly dashed as Jared twisted and writhed against the mattress as though his skin was being flayed from his body.

“Shh,” he tried to uselessly calm the stricken lad. He was torn, instinct demanding that he restrain Jared and keep him still, but the strength of his convulsions was impressive. Jared swung about and caught Jensen across the jaw, sending him tumbling from the bed. By the time he found his feet again, Jared resembled nothing so much as a man possessed by a djinn. Hands clenched into fists, arms bent at the elbow, the only parts of his body that were in contact with the bed were his shoulders, neck, head and heels. His spine was arched like a bow off the mattress, feet curled in painful mimicry. And never once did that diabolical smile leave his face.

“Hurry!” he heard Genevieve urge someone.

“Move away,” Richings ordered Jensen, spindly fingers pulling him aside with surprising strength. Jensen stepped back a foot or so, but hovered directly behind the doctor.

“He collapsed and he won’t stop smiling,” Jensen offered lamely, haunted by the sight before him.

“Make room for my assistant,” Richings said in an astonishingly calm voice. “Please draw all the drapes and light me a lamp.”

A young woman, not much taller than Genevieve, with warm, brown hair, rushed into the room and began to straightaway draw all the curtains shut. Genevieve hurried to light a lamp and held it in her hands, doubt painted all over her face as she stood by helplessly.

Without turning about, Richings pointed to the table beside Jared’s bed. “Here will be fine,” he told her as the room grew dimmer with the sun blotted out. “I need you all to keep your voices lowered,” he instructed gently, “and refrain from touching my patient unduly. In fact, it would be best if you both stepped out for now.”

Jensen was poised to argue, but Jared collapsed back down to the mattress and his face smoothed out some, no longer a harlequin sneer. He wanted nothing more than to go his boy, but seeing how Jared had reacted to the initial changes Richings ordered had him backing up and taking Genevieve with him.

“We’ll stand over here,” he whispered to her softly and pulled her back against him as they huddled by the threshold. Both of them watched intently as Richings examined Jared, speaking to him upon occasion and at other times whispering passionately to the brunette girl by his side. She extracted something from his case and tapped a measured amount of black powder into a glass, mixed it with water from the carafe by the bedside before handing the glass to the doctor. With infinite care, the older man cradled Jared’s head and cajoled him into drinking the potion. It was slow going, with the lad choking and sputtering at times, but the doctor was relentless and managed to get the majority of the brew down his throat. By the flickering light, the black remnants of the mixture smeared around his mouth made Jared look grotesque, like one of Poe’s prematurely buried. Jensen shuddered at the macabre thought. All the while, he kept a death grip on Genevieve’s shoulders, but the woman never once complained about the crushing pain, her own hands clamped tightly onto his.

Richings gave his assistant additional directives and she continued to extinguish any light remaining, save for the oil lamp by the bed, until the room was mostly blacked out. She leaned close to him and he murmured what Jensen could only assume were supplementary instructions before scurrying from the room. The doctor continued talking to Jared quietly and Jensen strained his ears to catch any part of their exchange to no avail. He was resigned to wait until the slender man deigned to speak to him directly.

“I don’t understand,” Genevieve mumbled under her breath. “He was fine.” Turning around in Jensen’s grip, her brown eyes were swimming with unshed tears. “He was fine and so excited about the baby…”

The baby.

Jensen was so wrapped up about Jared that he had actually momentarily forgotten about his child. If Jared managed to survive whatever this malady was, would their child fare as well? And if the child didn’t survive, would Jared survive its loss? Would he survive it? A child he had not expected, but loved nonetheless?

Before Jensen had the chance to offer what would most likely have been empty promises, Richings was standing next to them.

“I need you,” he spoke lowly to Genevieve, “to go to the kitchens and collect all the ice that hasn’t been used for the First Kadin’s sherbet and have it brought here straightaway.”

“W-what?” she stuttered, slashing her hand across her teary eyes. “I need to stay here.”

“This is no empty task. Jared’s life depends on it,” the doctor urged her.

No sooner had he mentioned the threat to Jared than she was off like a shot in a blur of chocolate silks.

“What is wrong?” Jensen demanded.

The skeletal man appeared unruffled and Jensen envied him his calm, hoping it was a promising indication that whatever had struck Jared down was not too irreversible. He was unprepared for the doctor’s next words.

“I believe Jared was poisoned.”

“What?” Jensen gasped, nearly forgetting the man’s orders to remain quiet in Jared’s presence.

“The rictus grin, muscle spasms and lockjaw are indicative of only two conditions that I know of. And since I’ve seen no sign on his body of any festering wounds, that rules out tetanus and leaves poison,” Richings explained.

Jensen whipped his head to the side, his eyes flickering about madly. Poison? Who could manage that? And then he remembered heady smelling white blossoms.

“Datura?” he demanded.

“Lower your voice,” Richings replied although he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Jensen’s suspect. “And, no, not Datura. He does not exhibit the dilated pupils and extreme delirium for that. Given the distinctive facial spasms and sensitivity to light and sound, I suspect nux-vomica.”

“That means nothing to me,” Jensen whispered with a shake of his head.

“Strychnine,” the older man clarified.

Jensen swallowed loudly, eyes skittering over to where Jared lay docile for the moment. “And that black drink you gave him is the cure?”

Richings drew in a steady breath and leveled his unwavering gaze at Jensen. “That was ivory black,” he explained. “Bone char washed in acid.”

“What?” Jensen asked, shocked that acid would play any part in Jared’s recovery.

“A colleague of mine in England, Dr. Garrod, some ten years ago began to make serious headway in nullifying the effects of strychnine with the mixture, not to mention discovering an effective charcoal to poison ratio. The charcoal will bind with whatever hasn’t been absorbed by his body yet and render it inactive. But make no mistake,” the man continued on gravely, “there is no antidote for strychnine.”

“No,” Jensen breathed and started to run to Jared but was stopped by the wiry man standing before him.

“Listen to me,” Richings hissed lowly. “I don’t have time to go into greater discussion about this because we must act expediently. And the child…complicates matters.”

A cold fist squeezed around Jensen’s heart. “Tell me,” he said, although it was a struggle to modulate his voice.

Richings inhaled deeply. “It is a blessing and a curse that Jared is only four months along. At four months, it is far too soon for the birth canal that carriers create to have formed. Considering all the wracking contractions his body is going through,” and he paused to glance over his shoulder at Jared, who was still blessedly not arching off the bed, “if he were a woman, his body would already be in the process of expelling the child by now.”

“So the babe is safe?” Jensen breathed out.

Richings didn’t blink. “For now.”

Jensen should have been comforted by those words, but the dark look the doctor cast him made him think otherwise. “What aren’t you saying?”

“There are only two courses of action in this situation. We can let the poison run its course. If Jared can survive the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, he will eventually recover. But the child will more than likely succumb to the extremes his body is suffering through such as the spasms, increased heart rate, rapidly rising temperature and irregular breathing. I would then need to surgically remove the child’s body in a timely fashion before it began to poison him from within and I do not think Jared would be physically strong enough to survive the procedure.” The doctor kept his eyes trained on Jensen and Jensen was sure that was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“What is the other option?” Jensen croaked.

“Another physician in Scotland has had a moderate success rate treating the poison with a muscle relaxing drug coupled with complete anesthesia using chloroform. Dr. Harley used curare, which I do not have access to, but laudanum should be a sufficient substitute,” Richings explained.

“Do that then,” Jensen urged him, but the other man raised his hand.

“I would need to keep Jared anesthetized for two days. While Dr. John Snow has proved that chloroform in limited dosages is beneficial to women in childbirth to eliminate pain, having only used it on Queen Victoria this past spring to assist the birth of her eighth child, I suspect that the length of time Jared will need to remain under narcosis so that he can survive the seizures will likely prove fatal to the child.”

Jensen breathed harshly through his nose, determined to retain control of his emotions. “And how is that any different from the first scenario you offered?”

For the first time, Richings reached over and placed his cool hand on Jensen’s forearm. “Jared would be strong enough to survive the surgery needed to remove the child’s remains.”

Jensen cut his eyes to the side abruptly in a desperate bid to keep the tears burning there at bay. Either way, he reasoned, he was going to lose his child. But the one treatment promised Jared a chance at survival.

“Do that,” he said with a surprisingly calm voice.

“Jared has refused that option,” Richings admitted.

“Do it anyway,” Jensen snapped. “I am ordering you to.”

The doctor shook his head. “My oath means more than that and it is the only order I follow. I will not force any procedure on another human being who has refused it. That would be monstrous.”

Jensen was so angry he was vibrating with it. “You can’t stand there and do nothing,” he spat.

“I can respect my patient’s wishes, but,” he added and moved closer, “there is nothing that says you cannot speak to him and help him with this decision.”

Jensen stood there, nostril flaring. “What could I possibly say that could help?” The words were sour defeat.

“Speak from your heart. You will find the words you need there.” The doctor twisted his head over his shoulder. When he faced Jensen, he was frowning. “But time is slipping through our fingers. Make no mistake, this,” he turned again and gestured to Jared, “is merely the lull before the next wave of convulsions crash over him.

“Speak softly and as difficult as it may be, refrain from touching him. The poison leaves him overly sensitive to external stimuli and can trigger another attack,” he finished explaining to Jensen.

Jensen jerked his chin once and quickly returned to Jared’s side. Rather than chance jostling the boy, he found himself once again on his knees before him. In the indistinct glow of the lamp, Jensen couldn’t miss the sheen of sweat that was already covering Jared’s body. Richings had undone the fastenings to his shirt and moisture was beginning to trickle down the grooves of his muscles. He also couldn’t help but notice the subtle, softer rounding of Jared’s stomach. He reached a hand out only to yank it back at the last moment, recalling the doctor’s warnings.

“Jared,” he whispered. “Jared.”

The lad’s eyes blinked open slowly. When he looked at the sheikh, he gasped, “Jensen.”

Jensen shuffled closer, leaning so that he was almost directly above Jared’s pained face. “I’m right here.”

Licking his dry lips, Jared rasped, “The doctor says a tiny seed is responsible for this.” And then he laughed. Jensen was terrified by the sound, sure the younger man’s face would once again be frozen in that hideous expression.

“Hush now,” he urged his boy, trying to calm him.

“It’s so fitting,” the younger man continued abruptly. “My father’s Fenchurch Street warehouse has tonnes of nux-vomica brought over from India. I saw it in the ledger books. This is divine retribution for importing the damned stuff because no good can come from it.”

“You didn’t deserve this, Jared,” Jensen whispered. His headdress dipped down and nearly brushed against Jared’s skin. Fearful of what that might ignite, Jensen tore the thing from his head and cast it aside. Itching to hold him, Jensen had no alternative but to pour everything he was feeling into his gaze instead. “That’s your fear speaking for you. You don’t deserve any of this.”

Jared’s eyes began to puddle up.

“And you need to give Richings permission to treat you.”

“No,” Jared argued and tried to sit upright. Without thinking, Jensen clasped him on his shoulders, momentarily shocked by how hot the lad’s skin was already, and pushed him down. When he realized what he’d done, he was ready to pull back. But no additional tremors came, so Jensen left his hands in place, absolutely desperate for the contact. For his part, Jared sank back wearily into the mattress.

“No,” he repeated, tongue snaking out to dab at his parched lips uselessly. “What he wants to do is too dangerous to the child. I-I won’t risk its life for the sake of mine.”

Jensen smiled, but it was a broken thing. “See there? Your logic is tragically flawed.” He gently brushed some of Jared’s fringe, already clumped with perspiration, off his forehead. “The child,” and he paused, voice cracking, “ _our_ child can’t survive if you don’t.”

As soon as Jensen had called the child theirs, Jared’s eyes had widened and he struggled to raise a hand to touch Jensen. Not wanting Jared to overexert himself, he caught the weak limb and placed it carefully back down by his boy’s side.

“But,” Jared argued, voice low and rough, “what he wants to do to me will kill our baby.” And he shifted his other hand to cover his stomach defensively.

“You don’t know that for certain. They give laudanum to children for coughs all the time,” Jensen tried to reason with him, “and Richings tells me that your own Queen Victoria had a doctor administer chloroform to _help_ her during childbirth.” Jensen didn’t care that he was twisting the facts – making the options appear reasonable – to get Jared to submit to them.

“Jensen,” Jared tried to argue, but his breathing began to increase noticeably, chest heaving as though he’d run a great distance.

“It is the only chance for both of you,” Jensen told him honestly. He twisted his head to the side and swallowed painfully. Facing him again, Jensen added, “It is the only chance for you. I won’t lose you. I can’t.”

Somewhere in the background Jensen was aware of additional voices and other people moving about the room, but his world had narrowed down to this moment. Jared fought to swallow, his breaths turning into gasps. They were out of time.

“I can’t live without you, Jared. I love you.”

Tears streaked down the sides of his boy’s face, lost amidst the sweat his body was expunging too quickly. “I love you, too,” he gasped. “I always have.”

Cupping one side of the younger’s man’s face and placing his other hand directly over Jared’s heart, Jensen implored him, “Then agree to the treatment. It is our only chance.”

Blinking frantically, Jared wheezed, “All right. Yes.”

Jensen exhaled in pure relief. From behind him, Richings patted Jensen on his shoulder. “Well done, m’boy. Well done.”

Jensen never took his eyes away from Jared, hoping he hadn’t destroyed them all with this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there may be a few of you who might find the wait for next week's chapter to learn the fate of the baby a miserable one. If you absolutely need to know now, you can click on this [LiveJournal post](http://phoenix1966.livejournal.com/19835.html) to find out. You don't need to have an account to read it.
> 
> If you decide to leave a comment here afterwards, please remember that some people won't want to be spoiled, so please don't reveal what you learned if you can help it.


	29. Chapter 29

_ _

 

Once Jared agreed to Richings’ recommendations, Jensen gradually became cognizant of the things around him. The flashes of people in the corners of his eyes coalesced and took on familiar shapes. The golden-brown haired girl who was Richings’ assistant (Lindsey, perhaps?) had returned carrying a smaller case, which she placed on another table and dragged the whole of it over to the right side of the bed. The doctor whispered something else in her ear, which had her nodding rapidly and disappearing once more. As the thin man opened the new case, Jensen continued to keep one hand pressed against his boy’s chest. The maddening beat was disturbing all on its own, pounding harder than anyone’s should, especially one supine on a bed. Jensen resisted the urge to stroke Jared more, having recalled Richings’ warnings and fearful that he had already pushed the envelope where touch was concerned. So he simply maintained a light pressure there, skin against skin.

“Jensen,” Jared choked out.

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, low and soft.

“Promise me something,” the lad eventually said, between swallows that were physically painful to witness.

“Anything. Everything,” Jensen affirmed. And he meant it.

“Make him,” and his fever-bright eyes skittered across to the doctor, busily bent low over a hexagonal table, “do everything he can to save our child. It’s,” and he paused, still trying to wet his mouth to no avail, “the one, honest thing to come out of all of this – the one _good_ thing.” An errant tear snaked down to catch in the younger man’s ear. Jensen traced its path reflexively, the smooth skin so hot he marveled that the tear wasn’t boiling.

“There have been other, good things, Jared,” he insisted, his voice like tumbled gravel in the near-silent room. It was suddenly so imperative that his boy should know that; more importantly that he should believe in that fact.

Blue like azure, Jared’s eyes continued to water. He tried to nod his head when his limbs began to stiffen and lock in place, like a rigid wave rolling through him and turning him to stone. Jared winced in pain, eyes crunching shut. “Richings,” Jensen hissed over his shoulder.

The doctor sat on a tiny stool along the right side of the bed, near Jared’s head. He held a small, clear bottle in one hand and a dropper in the other. Jensen was able to make out “Tinc. opii” in Richings’ distinctive, copperplate script on the plain label. He stared fixedly at the man as he drew out a measured amount of the reddish-brown liquid before leaning in close to Jared. The elixir looked like old blood and Jensen shuddered at his continually morbid turning of thoughts. He swore to himself that he was burning all of Jared’s stories by Poe when this crisis had passed.

His boy’s face was stained a deep, roseate hue and his nostrils flared with each labored breath. “What is that?” he croaked when he was able to focus on the dropper.

“It is the laudanum,” the doctor told him in a steady tone. “Remember we talked about this?”

And Jared looked to Jensen, worry plainly writ on his face. Jensen forced a smile, determined to offer whatever assurance the younger man needed from him. He rubbed his thumb under Jared’s right eye gently. “It will be all right,” he promised, silently praying that this wouldn't be the first, deliberate lie he’d ever told the lad.

“Come now,” the doctor coaxed him. “I can assure you it's not nearly as bitter as most preparations are. I mixed it myself from Thomas Sydenham’s original recipe, so it has sherry, saffron, cinnamon and clove in it. You will hardly notice the opium.” At the mention of the opiate, Jared’s shoulders bunched up. The discomfiture wasn't lost on Richings.

“’Of all the remedies it has pleased almighty God to give man to relieve his suffering, none is so universal and so efficacious as opium’,” he quoted. “That was Thomas Sydenham himself, who many refer to as the English Hippocrates. I’d wager your dear brother has a copy of his _Observationes Medicae_ in his possession at this very moment, as his teachings are the standard of today's English medical student.”

When the man mentioned Jared’s older sibling, the boy’s eyes brightened. And Jensen’s stomach twisted darkly, momentarily sick with the knowledge that James had no idea what had befallen his baby brother. If this didn't succeed, he might never learn of Jared’s fate…Jensen pressed his palm against his forehead and raked his hand through his hair savagely, practically digging furrows into his scalp. He wouldn't entertain the notion that this would fail. He simply wouldn't.

“Please open up, Jared,” the doctor instructed him. Jared pressed his lips together firmly, seeming to have decided that resistance was the way to go, when he cried out and arched his back once more.

“Please, Jared,” Jensen begged as his hands flew up and down the length of Jared’s reddened torso, but didn't dare to touch him. The seizure did not have him bowing completely off the bed, but it was a near thing. When the young Englishman settled back down ( _collapsed_ , Jensen’s internal voice corrected), his breathing was even more strained. Before either man had an opportunity to argue their case, the lad gingerly opened his parched lips enough for Richings to administer the tincture.

“Thank you,” the doctor said as he dropped the laudanum into Jared’s mouth. “This will ease the pain and begin to loosen your knotted muscles.”

Jensen, no longer willing to risk contacting Jared at all, fisted his hands in his lap and busied himself with counting how much of the medication Richings doled out. He noticed, with some difficulty because the sole lamp put out a meager light at best, on the back side of the bottle there was additional writing. It was a listing of dosages from infants at a drop up to twenty for adults. Jensen stifled the urge to demand an explanation when Richings surpassed that amount by five, but he didn't want to agitate Jared unnecessarily.

In what was probably no more than five minutes, but seemed an hour, Jared’s breathing slowed from its former, workhorse pace to something more reasonable. Overall, there was a general loosening of limbs and Jared sank boneless into the bedding. Richings was busing himself with whatever was on that small table that Lindsey had arranged for him and Jensen took the opportunity to lean in closer to his boy since he appeared more relaxed than he had since he was struck down. Jensen chanced a gentle caress along the lad’s cheek and was gratified when Jared tilted his head, chasing after it.

“Not so bad now?” Jensen queried.

Jared’s smile was timid at best, but it was there. “Not so bad,” he agreed. “It doesn't ache as much.”

“That’s good,” Jensen smiled, stroking his hand tenderly along Jared’s forehead, absently brushing the few clumps of hair that were plastered there aside. “It will be all right, Jared,” he said, confidence growing since Richings’ formula was so obviously providing his boy with much-needed relief.

Jared’s eyes were half closed as he tried to catch Jensen’s attention. “There’s something I have to confess,” he slurred. The effects of the laudanum were growing pronounced.

Jensen obliged and leaned closer, so that their noses practically rubbed against one another. The air between them was tangy and humid. Jared already smelled of sweat and sickness.

“What is it, dear heart?” Jensen asked him.

“I am so sorry for what happened that day,” Jared mumbled.

There was no need to elaborate which day Jared was referring to. “I know,” Jensen was quick to reassure him, not wanting Jared to repeat the heartfelt apology he had offered at their lagoon. With his right hand, he wiped away another tear that had slipped free, pausing to brush against the beauty mark alongside Jared’s nose. “I know you are. There’s no need to speak of it any longer.”

Jared began to blink noticeably. The pause between the actions more and more marked. “There’s something you don't know, though,” he muttered and weakly flailed his hand, beckoning Jensen nearer still.

Jensen obliged him by moving in more. “And what is that?” he whispered.

“I will carry the chains of my guilt with me until the day I die for what I said,” Jared rasped, “but if I could go back in time,” he paused again, trying to swallow and Jensen shut his eyes against the retraction he knew was coming, “I would do it again.”

Jensen was stunned. He couldn’t believe what he had heard. The sheikh blinked his eyes, surely as sluggishly as the lad lying before him. A weak nod met his gobsmacked stare. “It was the right thing to do. I,” he paused again, visibly slipping under as his eyes rolled in their sockets, “I didn’t have...”

“I think we’re ready,” the doctor interrupted them, and Jensen was too shocked to even rail at the man for his intrusion. After all, what was he supposed to say in the face of that declaration? Given the lad’s condition, Jensen had no doubts he’d spoken the truth.

Mouth hanging open, Jensen dumbly turned to the older man. Richings held an odd contraption in his left hand. Fashioned out of metal wire, it was a mask that was shaped to fit over the nose and mouth of an adult. And woven through the framework was at least one layer of muslin as best as Jensen could estimate. The doctor was holding it by a handle that protruded from what Jensen guessed was the chin area. In his other, spindly hand, he held a glass container with a matching stopper. He brought the items close to the lamp that flickered madly by Jared’s bedside, a slight breeze passing through at that moment.

“I am going to place this,” Richings explained calmly, “over your face and slowly drip the chloroform onto it.” He held up the glass container with the clear liquid so that the lad could see it all easily.

Jared struggled to raise his head and Jensen automatically slipped his hand beneath it to cradle his skull and support him. When he was able to see the cumbersome mask, his breathing – somewhat calm since the administration of laudanum – began to quicken alarmingly. “I-I don't think I can stand that,” he practically moaned.

Despite his shock, Jensen managed to recognize the panic that was setting in even as the doctor had begun to lower the apparatus over Jared’s face. “He has no tolerance for being closed in,” he warned Richings quietly as he lowered Jared’s head back to the pillow.

“Jared,” the doctor said more firmly, trying to get the nervous boy’s attention, “I want you to picture a place where you are safe. Go ahead and close your eyes and think on that. I won’t do anything to you until you are there.”

Jared snapped a momentarily lucid glance at Jensen and, despite the torment that plagued him after the lad’s declaration, Jensen met it straight on and without guile. “I am right here,” he assured Jared, stroking his face with infinite delicacy. “Close your eyes, Jared,” Jensen murmured as he dipped low, his lips brushing against the boy’s ear. “Jared,” he instructed him again, firmer this time, “close your eyes.”

As though that had been the directive he had been waiting for, the younger man’s kaleidoscope eyes blinked shut. Richings settled the mask over his face and began the exacting process of dribbling the chloroform, drop by carefully measured drop, onto the gauze of the mask. Within a few minutes, Jared’s breathing was more measured and drawn out, approaching something close to normal. While he was still dripping with sweat, his body had grown markedly limp. Tears continued to leak from his eyes, but he was otherwise untroubled to Jensen’s untrained observations.

From behind him, he heard Genevieve and Lindsey speaking softly. Chancing a look in their direction, he saw the women return, each carrying a large pot covered in burlap. Alaina’s beloved ice, brought over by ship from the snow-covered mountains of Afghanistan. He chuckled to himself when he pictured how livid she would be to find her precious cache decimated. But it was a crazed sort of mirth he indulged in as the thought that she was responsible for this catastrophe splintered his mind.

Without even so much as a peek backwards, the doctor quietly said, “Lindsey, please bring the scissors and come over here. Genevieve, I need for you to collect several items.”

The brunette raced to his side, wringing her hands as she saw the condition Jared was in. “What do you need?” she whispered frantically.

“I need several sheets, large enough to cover Jared and a dozen or so linens no bigger than for a table setting,” he calmly and methodically described. She nodded, despite the fact that Richings maintained a steady watch on his patient and couldn’t see her, and disappeared farther into the apartments.

When Lindsey returned with a pair of wickedly sharp shears, Jensen inhaled harshly. “It will be easiest to cut his clothes off, rather than risk jostling him unnecessarily,” the older man explained. While his eyes remained steadfastly on Jared, he was more than aware of everything around him, even sensing Jensen’s worry.

When the young woman reached down to begin cutting, Jensen grabbed her wrist. “I can do that,” he told her. He couldn’t stand the idea of someone else touching Jared, exposing him like that. And although he might be her sheikh, a part of Jensen was grudgingly pleased that Lindsey turned to Richings for confirmation, not willing to risk the health of a patient blindly.

“That will be fine. Lindsey, please help Genevieve collect those items I requested and also top one of the pots of ice to the brim with cool water.” The doctor remained unflappable as he dropped the clear anesthetic onto the mask, keeping an eye on the proceedings while not getting too close. From where Jensen sat, he smelled the overripe, sweet aroma and made sure not to breathe too heavily while near Jared.

“Don’t sit there and gawp. If you are going to help, then stop dawdling,” the older man chastised him. “You need to cut it all away.”

Jensen resisted the urge to scowl because the man was correct. With extreme care, Jensen slipped the scissors in the sleeve of Jared’s opened shirt and slid the sharp instrument up the length of it with ease. The blades were decidedly sharp. The material parted under his fingers, falling away like discarded armor, leaving his boy exposed and vulnerable. He shook his head and shifted lower, since there was no way he could do the other sleeve with Richings working where he was. He skated his left hand along the very long distance of Jared’s smooth leg, making sure not to nick the tender flesh with the points of the shears. He repeated the action on the lad’s left leg, although he let the portion that covered Jared’s manhood remain in place, and then drew himself up behind Richings’ seat.

The doctor carefully removed the mask from Jared’s face and set it, along with the newly stoppered bottle, on the table. He lifted the lamp from the bedside table and held it close to Jared’s face as he peeled back one, delicate eyelid. “His tears have stopped and his eyes are slightly dilated.” He returned the lamp to the table and retrieved a journal from his kit. Glancing at the nearby clock, he jotted down a notation and also set it beside him. “Go ahead and finish,” he told Jensen as he shifted aside.

“Does that mean he’s no longer in pain?” Jensen asked as he made short work of the rest of Jared’s shirt.

“Most likely he is not. However, patients, perforce, tend to tear up when not deeply under narcosis. It is a useful indication of merely light anesthesia and not the complete narcosis we desire,” and he stepped away, presumably to check on how the others were getting along with their assignments.

It hurt somewhere deep inside Jensen to see Jared splayed out and unmoving. His skin was still too pink like he’d spent too long under the sun. Cautiously, he placed a hand over the lad’s heart, needing to feel the absolute proof that it still beat. Ever so slowly, he ghosted his fingers down the hot flesh until he came to rest over Jared’s abdomen. He pressed a little harder, wanting so desperately to feel those butterfly wings Jared had mentioned to Genevieve. Sharp throbbing at the corners of his eyes reminded him that he would probably never get to enjoy the movements of his child now. And that bite of pain was enough to rouse his anger.

“Genevieve,” he hissed and the tiny woman was instantly by his side, her eyes riveted to Jared’s face.

“Is he at all changed?” she asked worriedly.

“Not much. Richings thinks he is not in pain, though,” he added as an afterthought, when it sank in how distressed she was. “I need you to do something.”

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

“Go and find Nasih. I want both him and Qasim here immediately.”

“But,” she started, eyes on Jared, “I don’t want to-to leave…”

Turning more fully towards her, Jensen’s face darkened. “You will do as I order you.” But Jensen soon tempered his tone as he saw the genuine pain etched on her soft features. “I need them to help me find who did this to him. They need to pay.”

She tore her eyes away and faced him, grim and severe. If he had harbored the slightest doubt over her possible involvement, it was banished at the sight of that wrathful visage. “Yes, they need to pay.” And she ran out of the room, an avenging angel in silks.

“Would you please remove the cushion from beneath his head?” Richings asked and Jensen startled. He'd been lost in thoughts of righteous justice and reveling in them, not noticing the doctor’s return.

“Why?” he wondered as he did as the man requested. Jared’s head was damp and his hair was lank between his fingers.

“I need you to place this,” and the slender man handed Jensen a sheet that had been rolled up like a fat sausage, “behind his neck. Not his head,” Richings was quick to correct him when Jensen had simply tried to replace the absent pillow. “Good,” the doctor said when he readjusted it properly. Jensen noticed with the roll there, Jared’s head was almost perfectly straight, mouth slightly open.

“One of the many risks of deep narcosis is the cessation of breathing,” he continued and Jensen gasped. “I told you there were risks with this procedure,” he added. “That is why someone will monitor Jared without pause. Not only do we need to continue the anesthesia at the first sign of him waking, but we need to make sure his breathing continues at the pace it currently is and doesn't slow any further.”

“I will keep watch,” Jensen said firmly.

“You can help, but you are not trained in this. I am and so is my assistant.”

As if she had been conjured, Lindsey appeared by his side, with a handful of knotted, linen bundles in her cupped hands. “Here you are,” she offered, handing them over to Richings.

“Thank you, my dear. If you would prepare the sheet?”

“Of course, Dr. Richings,” she returned quietly.

“Many of my colleagues,” and Jensen thought he caught the faintest hint of derision in the term, “believe that when the body is feverish, the humors are out of balance. And the only ‘cure’ for that is to release the excess humors to restore balance.

“Bleeding,” he eventually explained when Jensen had stared at him, perplexed.

At that, Jensen spread his arms behind him in some unconscious attempt to protect his boy. He might not know much about the medical profession, but he couldn't see the logic of draining the lad’s blood to heal him.

The corner of Richings’ mouth twitched. "Have no fear. I do not prescribe to that ‘logic’. I want you to place one of these ice packs on each part of the lad where his blood flows closest to the surface. So, start with the neck,” he urged, pushing his cupped hands forward.

Once Jensen understood that there was to be no bloodletting, he selected a pack and laid it across Jared’s slender throat, shifting and jiggling the ice so that it lay across it evenly.

“Excellent. Now, tuck one underneath each arm in the pit beneath the shoulders. Then across each wrist, inside his thighs beside his manhood and finally over his ankles,” the doctor instructed him.

Jensen did as he was bade, disturbed by the easy way that he was able to jostle and pose Jared’s lax limbs, like he was a child’s ragdoll.

Child.

He ground his teeth in an effort to hold back tears, deciding to turn his thoughts to who was behind this act. The poison had more than likely been in something Jared had eaten and, as far as he knew, Jared took all of his meals with Genevieve. The woman had ample opportunity to do it and easily assure her own safety in the process since she would have known exactly what contained the strychnine. If she was innocent, however, then why wasn’t she suffering as well? Surely a murderer wouldn’t be bothered by another death. Unless…unless whoever did it _wanted_ her to be blamed to hide their identity. If she’d been the one to find Jared then it would have looked most incriminating. So whoever did it made certain their timing was impeccable.

“Cover him with this,” Richings said softly.

Jensen regarded the doctor blankly for a moment, mind still turning over thoughts and half-formed suspicions. He accepted the bundled sheet and gasped in shock at its coldness.

“The Egyptians were fond of this method to cool themselves in the extreme heat,” the older man explained while Jensen draped the chilled fabric over Jared. Again, his lack of reaction was troubling at a fundamental level – the boy should never be that still. “When the slightest breeze wafts by, it will slowly dry the sheet and lower his temperature in the process.”

“Why not submerge him in an ice bath? Surely we have enough?”

Richings bent over Jared’s face, checking his eyes and pressing his fingers along his neck above the ice pack. Seemingly satisfied with his findings, he made another notation in his book. Slowly turning his head in that smooth, unnatural way that owls do, he replied, “I believe that extremes of any sort are often the most dangerous course of action. I don’t believe his heart could handle the strain and,” here he paused, letting his eyes flutter shut briefly before opening them again, “if the child is to have any chance at all – ”

“There’s a chance?” Jensen practically leapt at those words even as his hands mindlessly smoothed the damp sheet over his boy’s midsection.

“There is a chance,” Richings conceded. He looked down his Roman nose unblinkingly at Jensen. “I firmly believe in managing one’s expectations, however. The chance is so slim, it is almost not worth mentioning. But,” and Jensen kept his mouth shut with a herculean effort, hanging on every word, “the child’s well-being is constantly on my mind at every stage of this treatment and I will afford it every chance I can in hopes that I can save them both.”

Keeping one hand on Jared’s stomach, Jensen brushed over his mouth with the other. “Thank you,” he rasped, overcome with emotion.

“Don’t thank me yet.” He started to turn away but stopped. “You can thank yourself that you found him when you did. If it had been just a little later, I don’t think there would be any hope for either of them.”

Jensen nodded, still holding his mouth with one hand while he drew slow circles with the thumb of his other over his boy’s abdomen. If he hadn’t heeded Genevieve’s urgings to talk to Jared and cut their usual encounter short…

Their _usual_ encounter.

He shook his head ruefully. Over the last month and a half, the three of them had fallen into a routine as regular as clockwork. Jared and Genevieve would share a midday meal before taking their constitutional in the courtyard, where the lad would always leave first, allowing Genevieve to linger behind for her covert discourse with him. Anyone who had access to the harem could have noticed how consistent they had become. That was no small number. Still, there was only one person that Jensen believed had the most to lose, the one who badgered him ceaselessly for his company and, indirectly, his seed – Alaina.

“Sheikh,” Genevieve breathlessly called out.

Jensen twisted around and saw the woman at the threshold. She had her arm thrust out and was actually keeping his tall second from entering the chamber. Despite the gravity of the situation, he fought a rueful smile at the tiny powerhouse’s efforts to protect Jared from Nasih. No doubt the young Englishman had detailed how the older man had treated him and she was protecting him as best she could. With a lingering caress along his boy’s face, Jensen rose to his feet and shook out his robes. He marched over to the doorway, his rage mounting with each step.

“Thank you,” he bowed his head to Genevieve, resisting the urge to squint in the relative brightness of the threshold, and she slipped past him to return to Jared’s bedside. He had to bite back the urge to demand she keep her distance despite her loyalty. Glancing over his shoulder, he was surprised to see that she skirted his bed with a lingering fleeting look and went directly to the doctor, eager to do _something_. He understood the feeling as he faced his second and the scarred Qasim. To their credit, his men mostly kept their eyes on him and nothing else, although the eunuch guards that had gathered behind them mumbled uneasily at the shocking breach of protocol. Jensen was dimly aware that it was fortunate blood had not yet been shed on either side, but only dimly. He had one thing on his mind – vengeance.

“You are to go the First Kadin’s chambers,” Jensen spat out her title, “and remove any and every container you find within. I don’t care if it is some cosmetic smelling of jasmine, or a bottle of raki. Doctor!” he practically shouted.

Richings glided over, his expression severe. “The boy may be asleep, but I must still insist you lower your voice.”

Suitably chagrined, Jensen jerked his head. “Understood. I want you to test some items for strychnine. Can you do it here and can it be done in a non-lethal manner or do you need…subjects to test it on?” Should the man need to ply someone with the stuff, Jensen would give him someone in a heartbeat.

If the doctor was surprised, he hid it and replied smoothly in Arabic, “It would not be in the best interests of your Kadin for me to be otherwise engaged in anything not related directly to his health. Furthermore, this room is not suitable for work of that nature. A reagent I have been working on, consisting of sulfuric acid amongst other chemicals, must be handled with care and I would not want to contaminate these rooms.”

“Can she do it?” Jensen motioned to his assistant.

Richings nodded slowly. “Yes, Lindsey is quite an adept pupil. I am completely confident in her abilities.”

“Good. Then should the items be brought to the hospital instead?”

“That would be ideal.”

Turning to his men, Jensen continued, “Take everything to the harem hospital.” He paused as he saw Wisdom shouldering his way past the other eunuchs, his impassive façade cracking at the edges. He was a wall of barely restrained anger. Jensen understood the feeling intimately. “And if anyone tries to stop you,” he said, voice growing in volume as he took in the audience that had collected at Jared’s stairwell, “kill them.”

Neither of his men displayed any emotion to the order, although there was a louder murmuring amongst the others.

“And the First Kadin?” Nasih asked, hand on his scimitar hilt.

“If she gets in your way, drag her out by her hair if you have to,” he snarled. Wisdom’s jaw twitched, but he stood motionless. “After you’re done, see that she stays put until I get there. She is not to leave her bedroom,” he added, remembering the passageways hidden in the other rooms. “Do whatever you need to to accomplish that.”

They both bowed to Jensen and roughly shoved the other guards out of their way as they left. Wisdom remained, with the other eunuchs crowded behind him, arms crossed over his broad chest. Jensen stepped up into his space and met his gaze without hesitation. “You might answer to her,” he hissed at the Chief of the eunuchs, “but at the end of the day, you all,” and he broke his stare long enough to encompass the others, “answer to me. Never forget that, because I haven’t. Now get out of my sight.”

The two glared at one another until Wisdom saw something in Jensen’s eyes that had him lowering his, finally cowed. He whirled about and said, “Go,” to the others, who scattered like mice at the command. He regarded Jensen a final time and the sheikh fisted his hands on his hips, filling up the doorway as though to keep even the Kızlar Ağası’s gaze away from his boy. The other man tipped his head fractionally in grudging acceptance and departed as well.

Jensen exhaled noisily and went back to Jared’s side, seating himself on the edge of the bed. With the weak lighting it was hard to tell for certain, but Jared’s complexion seemed less flushed. He pressed his fingertips to the younger man’s forehead and, although it was still warm, it didn’t feel _as_ warm.

“Sheikh,” Richings asked, switching back to English, “it would be useful for Lindsey to have someone assist her in the testing. If you have no objections, I would prefer it to be Genevieve, since she is already acquainted with the matters at hand.”

Jensen agreed. “An excellent suggestion.” He suspected Richings also wanted to give the tiny woman a task to distract her from pointless worry. “Can you do that for Jared, Genevieve?” he inquired softly when she approached. Any argument she might have offered vanished as soon as Jensen phrased his request that way.

“Of course, Sheikh,” she answered and dutifully followed Lindsey from the room.

“Why don’t you check the ice packs and see if they need to be refreshed?” Richings suggested. Apparently, the doctor was aware that Genevieve wasn’t the only one who needed a task to remain calm.

After he had replaced the ones under Jared’s arms – his stillness eerie and unnatural – and the ones near his groin, Jensen accepted a new, damp sheet and covered him back up. Richings, in the meantime, had timed the boy’s respirations and seemed satisfied. Jensen kept a hawk’s eye on everything the doctor did. His scrutiny was not unnoticed.

“Sheikh, I know you are hoping for me to make some grand announcement, but nothing’s changed other than his temperature is decreasing. He will need to remain in this state for another day at least, until the worst of the seizures have passed.”

“But how can you tell when he’s like…this?” Jensen worried, one hand always touching a part of Jared now that he was near the lad again.

“I am going on a combination of previous cases and his physical reactions,” the older man explained, unperturbed by Jensen’s questioning. “As the narcosis lessens, he will begin to react to sensations both external and internal. At those time, I will assess his condition and either continue the anesthesia or allow him to wake. I will not,” he added, “allow him to remain under the effects for one minute longer than I deem necessary.”

Jensen snapped his head once, believing the physician. The older man placed a shallow bowl on the bedside table and handed Jensen one of the linen squares that Genevieve had procured earlier. With a wry smirk, Jensen accepted it, shrugging off his cumbersome robes.

“Another thing I have my suspicions about,” Richings added almost as an afterthought. “I believe that the human mind, even in the case of narcosis, is never fully at rest. There is no reason in the world not to think that on some level if you were to talk to the boy that he wouldn't hear you. And as a doctor, I’ve taken an oath never to repeat anything that might transpire when I am in the room with a patient. Food for thought,” the man said as he stepped off to the side, book in hand.

Dipping the linen in the cool water, Jensen began to dab at Jared’s face. He blotted the lad’s cheeks and forehead diligently, hoping that this mostly empty task, surely prescribed to leave Jensen busy, might actually be providing a modicum of relief. As he was wringing the cloth out for a second pass, Jensen cut his eyes to the side. Richings appeared engrossed in his notes, but Jensen had his own suspicions that it was all an act so that Jensen might be unencumbered to speak freely. He appreciated that ruse. Bending low so that there was a semblance of privacy, Jensen trailed a finger along Jared’s pointed nose.

“You know, I find myself wondering what parts our child will get from you and what from me. Is it an even division, do you think?” he asked the insensate boy. “Perhaps your exotic eyes, but my lips? I definitely hope they have your complexion.” He paused and patted the wet cloth along Jared's chin and jaw. He lowered himself closer and whispered, “I know you and your blasted fascination with my freckles. I would wager you’ve had your hopes set on a babe covered from head to toe with them, but let me set you straight. They are a curse. What kind of a man has his face covered in spots? And afraid each time I go out into the sun, a new crop will have sprung up by the time the day’s over. It's part and parcel of why I don't mind the beard here. I need all the protection I can get.”

Jensen tossed the rag back into the bowl and readjusted the sheet, making sure that Jared was covered as much as possible. “I am truly sorry about the time we’ve lost. I know now that I should have gone to you, but I was ashamed.” He paused and spied on the doctor, who continued to diligently regard his journal. The lamplight reflected oddly against the glasses he had just perched on his nose, so, in truth, Jensen wasn't entirely sure what the man was seeing. “I should have let you go, consequences be damned.” He slipped his right hand under the cold sheet and clasped Jared’s unresponsive one. He would have traded his last possession to feel those fingers curl around his. “But I didn't want you to go. I still don't and look where that got us?” He tilted his head, eyes growing impossibly soft as he took in his boy. Is this what his father felt? An almost suffocating need to possess and protect the one he loved? Had he grown up just like him after all?

“Jensen!”

Jensen jumped to his feet and ran to the doorway even as the voice calling him grew louder. “Be quiet,” he hissed as his little brother came into view.

“Why are you tearing apart my mother’s rooms? How dare you have that brute of a second lay a hand on her!” Jake continued on, disregarding his command. He was disheveled, his robes haphazardly tossed on, blond hair a riot.

“Both of you take your discussion outside,” Richings warned them calmly. There was nothing calm about his expression, however, glasses reflecting the lamp flame.

Jensen pushed Jake out by his shoulders, this time squinting at the late day sunlight. “I am doing what I must,” he told his little brother.

“What are you talking about?” Jake demanded. He paced nervously back and forth, eyeing Jensen like he had been possessed by a djinn. Mayhap he had.

Grabbing him by the back of his collar, like a mother dog would do to a troublesome pup, Jensen dragged him to the doorway and pointed with his free hand to the boy on the bed. “Someone,” Jensen seethed, “has tried to kill Jared. Someone has tried to murder my child and they might yet succeed.”

Jake was stunned silent. He peered into the darkened room as Richings placed the mask back over Jared’s face.

“I don't understand,” the younger man admitted eventually. “You think my mother is responsible?” His blue eyes were wide and unbelieving. Jensen had a fleeting pang course through him when he realized that no matter what happened, he was going to hurt his brother. “I have my suspicions,” he said after a minute. “That is why my second is removing everything from her room that might be a poison.”

Jake twisted himself free from Jensen’s grip. “She would never,” he defended her.

Jensen huffed out a breath. “I have my suspicions.”

“Suspicions are not enough,” his little brother argued.

“No, they are not. But everything will be tested. And if I find one grain of the poison used on Jared in her possession…”

“You’ll what?” Jake breathed.

“I will end her,” Jensen promised, low and deadly.

The younger man’s fortitude failed him then. “Please, Jensen, don’t hurt her.”

Jensen’s lips turned down as he flung his hand back toward Jared. “Look at him, Jake. Look at him! This is what our life is. The harem itself is poison. Driving someone to murder a man and an unborn babe all for position and greed and power.”

They were both silent, chests heaving but from different emotions. “Is he going to live?” Jake asked in a small voice.

Still facing the bed, Jensen replied, “Richings thinks it's a possibility. He is doing everything in his power to see that Jared does.”

“And the child?” he wondered more softly.

Jensen sucked in his cheeks and cut his eyes to the side, as though unwilling to face the truth. “The child has a tiny chance, but I have been warned not to grow too hopeful.”

“Oh, brother,” Jake exhaled, stepping closer, but Jensen backed away, not wanting the consoling touch. Not when he might very well be responsible for orphaning the lad in the not-too-distant future.

“Don’t,” he warned the younger man. “Go back to your mother. Spend what time with her you can.”

He refused to watch his little brother flee, but the sound of Jake’s choked sob echoed down the stairwell long after he was gone.

Jensen returned as the doctor was removing the mask. One look was all it took for him to know little had changed. He settled in beside his boy and wrung out the cloth and did the only thing he could besides wait.

Many hours later, Lindsey and Genevieve returned. Both women appeared tired, but determined as they entered the room. Jensen rose immediately, as did Richings, to intercept them. As though there was an unspoken agreement, neither man wanted to discuss the details of the attack beside its victim.

“Well?” Jensen demanded, nerves taut and ready to rupture.

“No, Sheikh,” Lindsey said. “I ran the tests twice. But the doctor can recheck my work if you have doubts.”

“I will if the Sheikh demands it, but I do not question your results,” the physician replied evenly.

“And she doesn’t grow this nux-vomica in her garden?” Jensen spat, desperate to prove her hand in this.

“No,” Lindsey confirmed. “I went through everything there as well. While I question some of her horticultural pursuits, there is no sign of it anywhere in her possession.”

“There is one place where a limited quantity of strychnine _is_ kept,” Genevieve said.

“Where?” Jensen barely resisted the urge to rattle her. Barely. His patience, limited as it was, had been exhausted.

She shook her head sadly. “Near the kitchens in plain view of everyone. It’s used to keep the rats and feral cats from getting into the food stores.”

And that meant that anyone who had access to the kitchens, and not just the harem, could have done it. They were right back where they had started, except they needed a larger net to cast in the widening pool of culprits. Jensen spun around and struck the nearest wall with his fist. Something cracked and Jensen didn’t know if it was his fist or the plaster on the wall. He didn’t care.

Genevieve continued unperturbed, “I can’t get the thought out of my head that whoever did it had to have been the one who brought Jared that sherbet. And if they didn’t, they might very well know who did.”

Shaking out his hand, oblivious to the pain, Jensen had no choice but to agree. “ _When_ ,” and no one missed the emphasis on that word, “Jared wakes up, we will ask him. I suppose there’s nothing left to do but wait.”

The women exchanged furtive glances, before Lindsey cleared her throat. “There were some…irregularities in a few of the items from the First Kadin’s rooms. The reagent did react to two bottles of liquor she had, indicating there were specific alkaloids in them. After a closer examination and a rather enlightening conversation with Genevieve, I am comfortable identifying them.”

Jensen made a rolling motion with his hand, knuckles already swelling, urging her to continue.

“I would ask that Dr. Richings verify my findings before you take any action,” she prefaced her revelations before taking a deep breath. “There was one cordial that reacted to the ammonium-sulfuric acid mix. While I was working with it, Genevieve recognized the bottle.”

Jensen shifted his eyes from one woman to the other. Genevieve blushed but didn’t lower her gaze.

“The First Kadin makes all of us drink it before we visit with you, Sheikh,” she told him, politely implying their assignations.

Nodding along, Lindsey elaborated, “I believe the liquor contains a large amount of wild carrot seed.”

Richings raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

“Well, I don’t so if one of you would care to enlighten me?” Jensen glared at the lot of them, sneaking a glance at Jared, who lay motionless in the dark.

“Since Hippocrates’ time, the plant was well-known to prevent conception,” Richings’ assistant stated plainly.

Jensen let out a hard breath at that. Alaina had been plying the concubines with something that prevented them from falling pregnant. And he’d never touched one, except Jared. Another sick laugh rose in his throat like bile, but he stifled it.

“Can’t work very well,” he muttered. _Since the only one I ever laid with is carrying my child_ , his mind supplied the rest.

Clearing her throat genteelly, Genevieve filled in the rest. “Jared wasn't given the ‘tonic’ because he had told Alaina he wasn't a carrier.”

“And that’s where my next finding comes into play,” Richings’ assistant chimed in. “The other oddity in her possession was a liquor stuffed full of blue lotus flowers.”

That was something oddly familiar to Jensen. “Lotus flowers? Like the Lotophagi from _The Odyssey_?” He remembered those fantastical people who only ate the lotus and wanted neither food nor drink, lazing about in a soporific daze.

“For centuries, it's been known that the flower has certain properties, which tend to lower the inhibitions of those who consume it,” the doctor added.

“That is what she gave to Jared,” Genevieve declared knowingly.

Jensen was speechless. The first night they had been together, Jensen had convinced himself Jared’s behavior hadn't been real, an act to curry favor at the very least, but he had assumed the lad had been in full control of his faculties. To learn that his seductive and abandoned ways had been merely the effects of a drug made him ill. If the others, especially Jared’s sloe-eyed companion, hadn't been studying him so closely, he might have vomited whatever was still in his stomach. “I see,” was what he managed to get out instead. And he did, too.

Given the manner and speed with which he had “slept” his way through the concubines, Jensen appeared an insatiable, thoughtless rake to the First Kadin. He was able to piece together Alaina’s plottings. When he had let her in on his original plan to arouse but ultimately leave Jared frustrated and untouched, she most likely was concerned how differently the boy was being treated – that if Jensen didn’t sample the lad’s “wares”, he might grow fixated upon him, might call on him again and again. And that was something she wouldn’t stand for, always wanting Jensen to only focus on her. So she apparently found a way to make Jared amenable, seductive even, trusting that he wouldn’t be to resist the younger man and therefore purge him from his mind after a tumble in the sheets. And believing Jared was infertile was simply the fancy topping on her cake since she wouldn’t need to continually dose him with that other concoction.

“The other drink?” he suddenly worried. “Does it have any long-lasting effects? Are the others injured by it in some way?” Concerns over the concubines, who might no longer be able to bear children, flooded his mind. With his own child’s fate out of his hands, he sympathized with how they might feel if carrying a babe was forever out of their reach.

“Let me put those concerns to rest, Sheikh,” Richings began. “One of the reasons wild carrot is so popular a choice as an inhibitor is because the effects are temporary. The seeds must be ingested either directly before or immediately following coitus. To no longer be affected by them, one must only stop taking them.”

Jensen let out a noisy sigh, relieved on behalf of the others. “Good. Very good.” Rubbing the back of his neck, trying to release the coiled tension there, he grumbled, “Anything else in the First Kadin’s sackful of cunning? Snakes? A djinn at her beck and call, perhaps?”

“That was everything, Sheikh,” the young woman answered.

Jensen grew thoughtful. “If Richings is satisfied with your work, then I am as well. Return her things to her save those two bottles. Those you will bring to me. Genevieve, tell Nasih that he is still to keep her under lock and key, but don’t mention these findings to anyone outside of this room. Understand?”

She nodded and left with Lindsey. Jensen hadn’t decided what to do about Alaina yet and needed to ruminate once he could think of any one thing beyond a few minutes’ time. He drifted back to Jared and took up his post on the lad’s right side, Richings off to his left.

Time took on an unreal quality without the light to mark its passing. Jensen’s world had dwindled to caring for Jared, wiping him down and trying to keep him cool. The ice was gone in short order, but it and the damp sheets did the trick. Jared’s body had lost its heated glow and Jensen readjusted the sheet, only in place to protect the lad’s modesty. He’d freed the torn clothes away from under his body when they’d dispensed with the ice packs and Richings had suggested that it might be beneficial if they worked the knots out of the younger man’s muscles while he was still deeply asleep. The seizures had cramped them badly and, if he was awake, would pain him greatly.

Jensen had been quick to snatch the oil from the doctor and handle the task himself. He entertained the notion that the man had simply assigned him the job to keep him occupied and Jensen had been glad of it. Anything was welcomed that distracted him from remembering the first night they were together now that he saw it through a clear lens. Gently kneading the rigid flesh under his hands, he doubted he could ever make amends. He’d raped Jared that night; there had been no consent between them. And as those thoughts plagued him, his hand slid down to the boy’s stomach and the slight roundness that proved they had lain together. Somehow Jared had forgiven him for all of it, but how would he ever be certain that what had occurred after that night had been anything other than the Englishman’s guilt at play and his desperate need for forgiveness? Or was he diminishing the boy’s capacity for it? And if Jared _could_ forgive him that crime, couldn't he do the same? But as he debated about it, the lad’s last words ( _not final, dammit_ ) haunted him. Jared would do it all again, break his trust and rend his heart in two. It made no sense. The confession by the sea had been an honest one and the younger man’s grief all but tangible. What he last said made no common sense. Jensen sighed and let his head drop back. He was bone weary of it all.

Rolling his head forward, he dipped close and murmured, “When you wake up, and you will wake up, make no mistake. We _will_ talk.”

In the hours that followed, one bleeding seamlessly into the next, the women came and went. At one point, Genevieve insisted that Jensen take a break to eat and he had noisily refused. Richings had meant to intervene, but there was no need. Sternly, Genevieve had pointed out that if he was to take care of Jared and their child, he needed to care for himself as well. Under her watchful eye, he had eaten and drank the bare minimum, but she had left satisfied and smirking.

Painting Jared’s lips with a wet cloth, Jensen groused, “Quite a companion you chose for yourself. How someone so small can be a spitfire like that is beyond me.” As he traced his thumb over his boy’s moistened lips, he continued softly, “I'm afraid I broke your confidence. I told her I was aware of her attraction for Sheikh Wasam. Jason,” he added. “I know you would be sad to lose her friendship, but if you want, I will work out a trade of sorts between him and me so she can go to him. I never told you this, mostly because I can't stand to recollect how that horrible day unfolded, but he’d spoken of her with real affection to me. I think they would be well-suited to one another. It might even be a love match and how often does that happen, eh? He would treat her right, Jared. So much finer than I have you.”

He continued to talk, carrying on a one-sided conversation throughout the night and following day. Jensen couldn't tell exactly how much time had passed when Richings finally decreed that he no longer needed to keep Jared under the effects of the chloroform. “I think he’s ready to wake naturally,” the doctor pronounced after a series of tests involving Jared’s reflexes and eye movement. “I cannot say about the child,” he added, anticipating Jensen’s burning question. “But I hold little hope since we needed to keep the young man sedated for nearly two full days.”

Jensen nodded, unable to speak and the physician kindly stepped back to slowly draw the drapes partially open. The sun was barely above the horizon and Jensen heard someone singing the morning prayers. He blinked back tears and told himself it was the change in lighting and nothing more. Jared’s color was much improved and his breathing comfortable and regular. Jensen roughly scratched at his beard.

“Tell Genevieve the news. She’ll want to know,” he informed Richings. The tiny woman had considerately left them alone although he knew she itched to stay by Jared’s side as much as he did.

“That shouldn't be difficult, since she’s asleep in the stairwell,” he replied with a hint of a grin.

Jensen chuckled wetly. “Not surprising at all,” he said under his breath. He’d fallen asleep sitting up more than once over the last, forty-some hours. The snatches of dreams – a child crying in the dark – that had haunted him helped him to stay awake.

Almost like he had been waiting for them to truly be alone, Jared began to stir as soon as the physician absented himself from the room. The changes were subtle and would have been easy to miss if Jensen had not been a fixture by the boy’s side for the previous two days. The flicker of movement beneath his pale eyelids was the first sign, the twitching of the fourth finger in his right hand the second and the breathless sigh that escaped his lips the third.

Jensen scooped up Jared’s hand and pressed the limp thing against his heart. “That’s it, love,” he encouraged him. “Open your eyes for me. Let me see them, please. That’s it,” he continued as Jared’s lashes fluttered. “That's my good boy.”

Brows furrowed and eyes pinched, Jared slowly slit them open. “Jensen?” he croaked.

If he hadn't been so overwhelmed with joy, Jensen would probably have grimaced in sympathy at how painfully his voice grated. Instead, he pressed Jared’s hand, still trapped between his, to his lips. “There you are,” he babbled, freeing one hand to brush along the lad’s brow, cool and dry and wonderful beneath his fingers. “I've missed you,” he confessed.

What crossed Jared’s lips could only be described as a smile by the most generous of souls, but it was brighter than the sun to Jensen. Even as it rose, however, it set just as suddenly. “The baby?” he rasped uncertainly, bringing Jensen crashing down with him.

Jensen forced a smile as he placed Jared’s hand back beside him and busied himself with a carafe and glass. Cupping Jared’s head in one hand, Jensen lifted it as if it was made of spun glass and held the drink to the younger man’s cracked lips. “Small sips,” he cautioned Jared, since Richings’ had said that when Jared awoke he could drink immediately, if in moderation. The meager amount of water they’d managed to trickle in him before was barely enough to replace all the fluids he’d lost.

With Jared awake, Jensen turned to his most pressing concern and in doing so, could postpone the painful conversation about the babe that was sure to follow. “I need you to tell me something, Jared,” he pushed the boy. “This is very important. Who brought you the sherbet?”

With some liquid in him, Jared perked up slightly. “The sherbet?” he repeated. “I-I don't know what…what do you mean?”

Taking a calming breath, Jensen carried on carefully. “You had lunch with Genevieve, remember? And then you two went to the garden.”

Jared bobbed his head although Jensen doubted how much of the conversation he was following. Jensen tugged a pillow over and settled Jared against it since they no longer had to worry about his breathing. He couldn't resist tucking a few strands of the lad’s lank hair behind his ear and smiling. Jared mirrored the expression and Jensen was lost for a moment in the fact that his boy was talking and smiling _and had opened his eyes_.

“And then you left and Genevieve stayed behind,” he prompted Jared. “You returned here and there was sherbet waiting for you?”

Jared’s eyes were dipping low. It was clear he was struggling to stay awake and follow the conversation. Jensen urged him on. “Was the sherbet waiting for you when you came back or did someone bring it to you?”

Jared sighed softly. “I ate it all. Didn't save Genevieve one, little bit.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “It was so cold and soothing going down.”

Inside Jensen was seething, needing to know who was responsible. But he tempered that anger since Jared was dazed and muddled and might mistake it as something directed at him. “And who was so thoughtful to bring it to you? Or did someone send it along?”

“He said it would be like a bite of home for me,” Jared slurred. “And I was so surprised, because it was the first nice thing he'd done since you made me your Favorite. I know he hates me,” the lad confessed most drunkenly, opening his eyes so quickly Jensen was startled by the abrupt change. “Thinks I stole you from him.” And if the matter weren't so grave, Jensen would have burst out laughing at Jared’s earnest expression. As if he could ever belong to anyone else.

“Who, Jared? Please tell me who?” he pressed on as Richings’ returned.

Jared closed his eyes. “Assaf,” he sighed, drifting off.

Jensen’s world turned crimson.


	30. Chapter 30

_ _

_December 23 rd 1853_

_Ankour Palace_

Jensen tumbled into the chair with no finesse, the bottle and glass in his hands echoing hollowly when he dropped them onto his worn desk. Clad in only his sirwal and thobe, the heat overly oppressive to him, he poured a more than liberal serving of bourbon into the cut crystal. The amber liquid slopped over the side to add a new stain to the battered wood. He used it to trace odd patterns into the grain while he sipped the whiskey, relishing its familiar bite and burn. Off to the side, the stack of missives and mostly unanswered posts had only grown in the last month. He didn’t care. He was tired.

By the time he was on his third glass, Jensen had amassed enough liquid fortitude to open the bottom drawer and remove two items from within. The first he set down with extreme care, treating the well-used journal like it might be a holy book. The second item he held up as he leaned back, the wooden chair creaking like old bones as he did so. Above his head, he twisted the chain of the pocket watch until the thing twirled about hypnotically. The gold caught and flung back the light in staccato bursts as he nursed his bourbon. The crystal captured the starbursts and the amber liquor glinted and winked back at him. Like he did every day since it happened, Jensen thought about Jared and loss and death. Those thoughts were all that he had to keep him company and what cold company it was.

 

_“How long has he been awake?” the doctor demanded._

_“Since you left,” Jensen murmured, the name of the odalik reverberating inside him. He sprang up and swayed as the change in position after so long was disorienting. With one hand pressed against his forehead and his eyes screwed shut, Jensen made every effort to control his breathing. It wasn’t until he noticed Richings’ steely grip on his arm did he realize he was trembling. Jensen tugged his limb back, embarrassment and rage running equally rampant within him._

_“I’m fine,” he insisted._

_The doctor merely regarded him with an unreadable expression as he took his customary station alongside the bed._

_“He woke up and was lucid, drank some and-and asked about the child,” Jensen offered quickly._

_“And what did you tell him?” the older man steadily queried him, hand pressed against Jared’s neck, thumb measuring the beats beneath it._

_Turning away, Jensen conceded, “I answered his question with a different one and misdirected him.”_

_The physician made a, “Hmm.” But whether that was in response to what Jensen had done or what his observations revealed, Jensen had no idea, nor did he care. He could no longer control his fury._

_He stormed over to the threshold, flinging the doors wide. As Richings had said, Genevieve was all but curled up in the doorway and she woke with a start. “What’s happened?” she croaked, every word sleep-weary and rough. “Is he worse?”_

_And her panicked tone cut through his red haze like a blade. “He is-was awake,” he corrected himself. “The doctor is seeing to him even now. Watch over him for me,” he added, only trusting this small handful of servants to actually care about his boy._

_“What is it?” she asked, gripping his muscled forearm as she rose, protocol and etiquette and pointless rules tossed aside. “Where are you going?”_

_Jensen shrugged her off easily enough. “To make someone pay,” he answered, deadly and flat. Genevieve deftly lifted her hand from his person, recognizing a force of nature when confronted by it. “Watch over him and if something happens, find me immediately.”_

_She bowed her head once, not needing him to repeat himself, and disappeared into the darkened room._

_Like a great bird of prey, Jensen practically flew down the stairs and none of the eunuchs dared to even voice their curiosity, but parted before him like the Red Sea did for Moses. Jensen had little recollection from his childhood of the various quarters’ locations, but he knew where Assaf’s were, having snuck in there more than once when they were both young and daring and friends. With unerring accuracy, Jensen careened that way. When he passed Qasim, he was barely aware that the scarred man fell in behind his sheikh. His soldier needed no words to recognize his leader on a mission and took up his place alongside him. At some point, they marched past Wisdom and the eunuch also fell into step with them. For whatever their differences and places within the hierarchy, they were united in this endeavor._

_Assaf’s room was at the end of the concubine dormitory, nearest the stairs so that he could be at their beck and call as needed. Since Jared’s attack (Jensen could think of it in no other terms), most of the palace had been locked down, with only those whose positions were absolutely necessary for the maintenance of the household the ones granted the freedom of movement while under guard. Assaf had been one of those deemed essential, so there was the very good chance he was not there. But somehow Jensen knew the man would be waiting for him. And he was not disappointed._

_Slamming the door open to Assaf’s room hard enough that the wood cracked, Jensen stood for a moment in the doorway, chest heaving. He paid no attention to the details of the small chamber, didn't notice the modest collection of books – all favorites of Jensen’s – alongside one wall. He didn't notice the treasured ammonite they had found on one of their covert explorations of the nearby caves some fifteen years prior, and he certainly did not catch sight of the dried flower tucked into a corner – the sad, mummified remnant of a private dinner they had shared the previous month. All Jensen saw was the man himself, seated almost placidly on his unassuming, modest bed, hands clasped and head lowered. A man waiting for his executioner. He would wait no longer._

_“I have only one question for you before you go to meet the Maker,” Jensen said, calmly._

_Deadly. Final._

_“Yes?” the odalik replied, small and finished._

_“Why?” And Jensen waited, expecting some apology, some plea for absolution or pardon for his life. His hand slipped down to his janbiya, fingers caressing the handle lovingly. Behind him, Wisdom and Qasim were stone sentries._

_Assaf lifted his head and shored up his shoulders. “For you, of course. And I would do it again if needs must.”_

_For the second time in as many days, Jensen couldn't trust his own ears. The statement stunned him into momentary inaction and Assaf took the opportunity._

_“It is my duty to care for the concubines, but my first duty has always been to care for you. I have spent my whole life following that order faithfully and I will do so until death.”_

_“Then your duties are done,” Jensen intoned solemnly, drawing his jeweled dagger free._

_“Finally,” Assaf exclaimed almost joyfully, “you act like the sheikh you are supposed to be.”_

_“What?” Jensen demanded as he advanced slowly, debating if Assaf had gone mad._

_“That kāfir was your undoing! And I did my best, first by watching and waiting, then by defending you from him as best I could, and then finally by taking the offensive. I am not sorry. He had bewitched even the First Kadin, who would not have punished him as prescribed had I not vigorously reminded her of her duties. He was sent here to test us and I made sure you did not fail!”_

_“How could Jared possibly be my undoing?” Jensen scoffed incredulously._

_Assaf’s face grew severe. “You forgot yourself before him. You forgot us before him. Even now, you are only decisive_ because _of him.”_

_“I am your sheikh and I forgot nothing,” Jensen spat._

_“You knelt before him in front of the entire household and let him show you the soles of his feet! I couldn't stand to see him humiliate you any further, so I did my duties as your father bade me do eighteen years ago,” the odalik testified. He stood up and spread his arms wide. “I protected and loved you.”_

_“And my child?” Jensen hissed, serpentine. “Did you stop to think about my child?”_

_Assaf’s dark eyes met his crackling green unflinchingly. “It has not yet been one hundred and twenty days. The Creator’s angels have not writ his story and his soul has not been blown into the body. Your child’s soul will find another.”_

_The calm and impersonal way the man spoke of his child was too much. Jensen let the curved dagger fall to the floor with a clatter and descended on Assaf in a maddening whirl of wrath and fists. He wanted the man to suffer as he was suffering and the dagger would have been too quick – too clean. They tumbled to the floor, Jensen astride the other man, who offered only a token resistance. As he pummeled Assaf, he reveled in the sensation of the other’s flesh rending and splitting under his hands, his hits slipping more often than not as they slicked with his blood. Jensen’s grin was feral._

_Suddenly, someone was saying his name time and again, but he shrugged them off, unwilling to stop. It was only when he heard Jared’s name mentioned that the comfortable haze of bloodshed cleared somewhat._

_“What?” he panted, letting Assaf lay on the floor, a halo of maroon splattering the white tiles beneath his dark hair._

_“Jared needs you,” the voice said, sounding more and more like Genevieve as sanity sank in._

_Jared._

_The only thing that would ever touch him._

_“What’s wrong?” he demanded. The man beneath his fists already forgotten, no more than a memory._

_“He woke up again,” Genevieve said and Jensen noticed how she wouldn't look at the bloody heap on the floor. “The doctor tried to explain the situation to him and Jared grew frantic. He is inconsolable and his body is still too fragile for it all.” Jensen’s fog of rage had all but lifted as he grasped the way that the woman before him fretted. “He needs you.”_

_And that was all that it took. He would deal with Assaf later; he would finish what he had started after he had seen to the only one who mattered._

_Jensen was nearly at the threshold when he heard a wet gurgle behind him. “H-he still lives?”_

_He paused in the doorway but refused to turn back. “Yes,” Jensen said vehemently. “Your sick plot failed, because he still lives and he is still mine.” And Jensen did glance over his shoulder, just once, to spy the man. He had rolled over onto his stomach, propped up on his shaky forearms and spat red onto the marble floor. He never once raised his head and Jensen was glad for it, no longer wanting to look into the eyes of a murderer. Jared was alive, but his child was all but dead and for what? Misplaced honor? A twisted love? Was everything within these walls warped from venomous tradition?_

_“See that no one comes or goes,” Jensen ordered Qasim. “I will deal with him shortly.” His guard lowered his head in acknowledgement and both he and Wisdom assumed a position beside the now closed door to Assaf’s room. Jensen had no worries that anyone other than him would be the one to mete out final justice._

_Mind still unbalanced from his encounter with the odalik, Jensen did his best to keep up with Genevieve. The dark-haired woman ran faster than Daphne fleeing Apollo and it was only because his legs were_ _longer that he was able to keep up. When they approached Jared’s rooms, however, she turned and stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Wait here.”_

_“But I –” he began, only to have her interrupt._

_“Look like you’ve newly arrived from a slaughterhouse,” she finished for him. “Let me fetch some water first.” And she ducked inside._

_Jensen let his head drop and saw that his hands were stained crimson. He had forgotten._

_Genevieve reappeared, holding a shallow bowl for him. He dipped his hands in the water and scrubbed with efficient ruthlessness, unaware how pink the liquid grew in short order. When he was done, she set the bowl on the floor and proceeded to tug his bisht from his shoulders. “Your clothes are dark enough that if some blood still remains, it shouldn’t be noticeable,” she informed him matter-of-factly. It was strange how he stood there, under her inspection, and hoped to not be found wanting._

_“Good enough. Now go,” with that, she turned to dispose of the contents of the pot._

_It took less than a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim room as someone had pulled back the thick drapes enough that a shaft of light stabbed into the darkness. How different a scene he returned to than the one he left, however._

_Jared was no longer supine on the bed, but upright and pressed against the headboard. He had drawn his legs up against his chest, using them for protection, with his arms wrapped about them tightly. His head was bent low over his knees and he was rocking from side to side, shoulders heaving. Richings was seated, but had moved his chair to the end of the bed and his assistant, while still in the room, had taken up a position of retreat in the farthest corner._

_“Jared, you need to slow your breathing,” the doctor intoned with slow and distinct pacing. “I promise not to touch you, but you must calm yourself.”_

_Jensen hurried over and sat on Jared’s right, hesitating for only a few heartbeats before he wrapped his hands around the boy’s thin shoulders. Jared flung his head up, fringe plastered to his forehead and tears streaking his cheeks, to regard Jensen with a mixture of fear and dread. That defensive confusion melted into angry despair when he recognized Jensen for who he was. He whipped his hands in front of him as if to ward off blows and flattened himself further against the headboard._

_“Do not touch me,” he spat and wriggled out of Jensen’s hold. Shocked by the vehemence he saw writ on the lad’s face, Jensen grudgingly did as he was bade. He didn't relinquish his position on the bed, but did shift away from Jared somewhat._

_“He,” Jared continued, extending his arm towards the doctor and Jensen noted how that limb trembled with either rage or weakness (or, perhaps, both), “wants to cut me open and take our child. Look how he sits there like Death himself with a reaper by his side to do his bidding.”_

_“I explained his condition to him,” Richings murmured to Jensen. The skeletal man seemed unperturbed by Jared’s epithet, although, judging by the way Lindsey wrung her hands, the brunette was more affected. For as far back as Jensen could recall, no members of the harem had ever fallen gravely ill, so this was probably the young woman’s first experience with such grief and anger. Genevieve moved to stand near her and offer some small measure of physical comfort as only a woman could. “Needless to say, this is a difficult time.”_

_“Difficult?” Jared squawked, face blotchy with salt and anger. Jensen instinctively offered his hand to comfort, but Jared tuned on him as well. “And you knew! You told me this was the best chance for the child, all the while lying to my face!”_

_Blood still thrumming from his encounter with the odalik, Jensen met emotion with emotion and all but shouted back, “Yes, I knew exactly what I was doing!”_

_“Sheikh,” the physician’s voice was grave, “he should not be so agitated so soon after everything.”_

_“Give me a moment with him,” Jensen decided, reining in his bitter despair. “Surely we have some time?”_

Before you cut our dead child from his body _, he lamented to no one but himself._

_Richings agreed solemnly and stood. Genevieve was quick to act, ushering the two into her chambers. “Let me offer you both something to eat and drink. You can refresh yourselves while these two speak,” she said as she led them from the main room._

_Jensen twisted around to Jared and did his best to bring his own breathing back under control. For his part, Jared yanked and pulled on the sheet, trying to free it and cover himself more. Jensen slid back to allow the younger man room to do so. But Jared surprised him. As soon as Jensen had moved enough, Jared stood on shaky feet and wrapped himself in the sweat-soaked bedclothes. He stumbled his way over to the drapes and clung to them, breathing hard and seemingly desperate for fresh air that didn't reek of sorrow and death._

_“Jared,” Jensen rasped, following after, wanting to touch but afraid to do so. If the lad swayed in the least, Jensen would grab him and carry him back to the bed, Jared and his anger be damned._

_The younger man refused to turn, refused to acknowledge Jensen in the slightest. He merely stood there, one hand holding the sheet in place while the other clutched at the heavy material of the curtains. For a time, the only sound in the room was two sets of ragged breathing. Jensen seized his hands into fists, arms hanging impotently at his sides. He was a mass of feelings – grief, murderous rage, worry and, at the very bottom, forming an unshakeable bedrock, love. He couldn't even begin to fathom what Jared had to be experiencing._

_“Why?” his boy murmured, small and so very sad. “Why would you let him kill our child?”_

_Jensen’s body deflated, his face losing its taut grimness and eyes softening. “Jared,” he began, but his mind was not flooded with the perfect words to describe his decision to the one who had been most affected by it. He fell silent._

_Jared shot a murderous look over his shoulder. “How could you do that? How could you lie to me like that? I believed you! I believed every word you said. I would never,” and he turned more, brow furrowed into too many lines for such a young face, “have agreed to what the doctor proposed had I known it was all but a death sentence for our babe.”_

_“And that’s exactly why I did what I did,” Jensen replied, blinking to clear the way his vision shimmered as the shaft of light bathed Jared in its diffuse glow. “I had to take care of you and make the decisions you could not. Do you think that I somehow took perverse pleasure in all of this? Do you honestly believe if there had been another choice which guaranteed both the babe’s safety and yours that I wouldn't have rallied for it instead?”_

_“I-I don’t know what to believe anymore,” the lad mumbled and he no longer regarded Jensen, shivering where he stood._

_Jensen huffed and shook his head. His decision had truly cost him everything – his child and Jared – and he was overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. When he laughed, it was a sick and broken thing. “You will never understand the position I was in,” he croaked, “knowing that your life was in jeopardy. And for that I would do_ anything _, say_ anything _if it meant that you would live. Even if it cost me you,” he breathed out at the end, tired and routed, head hanging low and body frozen in defeat. “It did cost me you. And if tasked with it again, I would do the same without hesitation.”_

_For a minute, there wasn't a single sound in the room. And then, Jared sucked in his wet breath so sharply that Jensen would have sworn the lad had laughed as he had. But that was impossible, for there was nothing joyful in what he had confessed._

_“I do, though,” his boy whispered and there was that choked amusement again. “I know your meaning exactly and I wish to God I didn't.” And he slapped both his hands over his face, the sheet fluttering to the ground, ignored, as he wept anew._

_Jensen snapped his head up. Like a nymph, Jared’s body was swathed in sunlight, bare and innocent and so very vulnerable before him. The sight tugged at Jensen’s aching heart and his feet were suddenly free to move about. He stepped forward, as cautious as he had been when he’d approached Shaitan with the colt’s first bridle, and dipped down to retrieve the fallen bedclothes. He draped his arms slowly, reverently, against the lad’s lithe body and dared to keep them in place after the cloth covered him once more. Something mended in his shattered soul when Jared did not shrug him off, but stood in place as Jensen stepped up behind him and fully pressed the length of his body against that of his boy’s, sensing every tremble that shuddered through the younger man like it was his own pain, because it was. They stood for an indeterminate time, wrapped in sunlight and sorrow, unified in loss._

_“Come,” he finally breathed against the side of Jared’s throat, tasting salt as he pressed a kiss against his shoulder. “Let’s lie down.”_

_And because he didn't order or coax or make Jared do it alone, the request must have reached the Englishman, since Jared agreed without a fight. They staggered together, both war-weary and battle-scarred, back to the bed, where Jensen lowered Jared with care, tucking the bedclothes about him._

_Before he joined him, Jensen called out for Genevieve. When she appeared, he asked her to escort the doctor and his assistant back in. Sitting alongside Jared, Jensen dragged his hand slowly across the younger man’s forehead, flicking aside the greasy strands of his fringe. “We need to talk to the doctor and discuss what is the best course of action, Jared,” Jensen reminded him._

_Jared closed his eyes, but dipped his head in acquiescence. Or defeat._

_Keeping a hand on Jared’s arm, trying to ignore the way his boy caressed his stomach under the sheet where he thought no one could see him, Jensen addressed the returned physician. “Dr. Richings, what happens next?”_

_The thin man pulled his former chair close and sat down. Jensen suspected he did that to be on the same level as Jared and not lording over his recumbent patient. He tilted his head, more than likely noting the fact that Jared had calmed down enough to tolerate the touch of another person again. “Well, now that young Jared is awake, I would like to proceed with the next stage of the treatment.”_

_Jensen tried his best not to wince when Jared clutched his stomach protectively._

_“I need to ready things in the hospital because an operation of that type would best be conducted under the most controlled circumstances,” he added, also glimpsing Jared’s reaction._

_“And when would this need to occur?” Jensen asked, although his heart wasn’t in it. But he would be strong for the both of them, since Jared couldn’t._

_“The sooner the better,” Richings admitted._

_Jared sniffed, his hands visible again and working the hem of the sheet relentlessly. “Can it wait until tomorrow?” he asked softly._

_Jensen’s hand stilled the gentle, repetitive stroking he hadn't even known he was doing. “Jared,” he began, tone a bastard of worry and frustration._

_“I’ve only learned of this in the last hour,” Jared continued, adjusting himself until he was upright. “You have all had time enough to come to grips with it, but I haven’t. Will one more day make that much difference?” And his voice was the strongest Jensen had heard it in a long time._

_The doctor stared at Jared, unblinking, for several moments. “No, I don’t believe so. But not a full day, Jared. We will proceed at first light tomorrow. A good night’s rest for all of us would not be amiss.”_ _Satisfied that Jared appeared less agitated than when he first woke up, the doctor rose smoothly and held out his hand, indicating to Lindsey that she should leave with him._

_“One moment, Jared,” Jensen murmured and followed the two to the entrance. “Is this delay wise?” he muttered._

_“You go on ahead, Lindsey. Make sure the supplies for tomorrow are in order and then get some rest, my dear,” he nudged the younger woman. She smiled, ducked her head and took her leave of the men. When it was the two of them, the physician stepped closer, subdued. “You can be assured I would not take any unnecessary risks with his health.”_

_“I wasn’t implying – ” Jensen started._

_“I understand your worries and take no offence. It actually will do all parties good to take a few hours’ rest. And I am of the thought that for a patient to have the best chance of recovery, their mind should be as strong as possible. The lad is correct,” he mused, “in that we have had more time to become accustomed to the notion that the child has passed. Let him come to as much peace as he can with that concept before I must do what I must._

_“Keep close watch and should he experience any pain or his fever show signs of returning, summon me immediately, Sheikh.”_

_Jensen could only nod as the older man left. As he walked back to the bed, Genevieve emerged from her room carrying a pillow and a sheet. “What are you doing?” he questioned her quietly._

_“I am tired and need to sleep and you both need your privacy,” she answered easily, although the sadness in her eyes was undisguised. “I shall be just outside if you need anything.”_

_He would have objected if he thought it would do any good, so he only smiled at her instead. He poured a glass of water and offered it to Jared, who hadn’t budged from his position, as though to have done so would have been a sign of weakness. Jared accepted it gratefully and drank deeply. When he handed it back to Jensen, he offered the man the shadow of a smile._

_“Go ahead and lie back down, Jared. No tricks, I promise you,” he added, voice cracking at the end, unsure where he stood with Jared since that revelation._

_And after his boy was comfortable, he climbed in alongside, gambled and opened his arms when he was settled. Jared paused for no more than a second before he accepted the offer of comfort and nestled within that cage of flesh and bone, head resting above Jensen’s heart like he needed the sound to remind him that they were both alive. For a long while, they lay silent as Jared’s fingers traced nonsensical patterns on Jensen’s chest._

_“I,” Jared whispered, “I can’t say that I forgive you yet, but I truly understand why you did what you did.”_

_Jensen swallowed thickly, not trusting himself to speak. He tightened his hold on his boy and rested his chin on the crown of Jared’s head._

_“I can’t believe the baby is gone,” he wept suddenly. “It had only started to move the other day and I wanted to share that with you. I-I thought there would be time.”_

_Jensen blinked his eyes rapidly in an effort to keep his own tears in check. “I will carry the shame of my cowardice to my grave,” he croaked, running the fingers of his right hand through Jared’s dull hair._

_“What cowardice?” the younger man sniffed._

_Shaking his head, Jensen admitted, “I was ashamed to face you, because I couldn’t find a way to let you go.”_

Because I can’t let you out of my life. Because I want you too much.

_He braced himself for a deluge of questions or demands, but there were none. Jensen let his hand slip from his boy’s hair so that his thumb dragged gently along Jared’s cheek, brushing up against the beauty mark alongside his pointed nose, and wiped some of the wetness away. Jared reached up and caught that wayward hand, pressing it more firmly against his face before curling his fingers around it and placing both against Jensen’s breast. Peering down through eyelashes clumped with salt, Jensen watched as Jared studied his calloused hands._

_“What’s this?” he rasped, rubbing his thumb along the rough skin at the base of his nails. Jensen tried to get a better view and finally spotted the red that had dried like wicked smiles around the edges of his nails – Assaf’s blood._

_He curled his hand reflexively, not out of shame, but because there was already enough talk of death in the air. Jared, however, would not be deterred._

_“What’s happened?” he worried, slender fingers rubbing against the knuckles that were already reddened and slowly swelling._

_Sighing, Jensen knew that his boy was tenacious and there would be no escaping his inquiry. Better to simply give him what he wanted. “I…went to confront Assaf.”_

_Jared winced and gripped his fist harder. “What did you do?”_

_Jensen tried to catch the lad’s gaze, but Jared’s eyes were firmly fixed on his battered fingers. “I did what I had to. It wasn’t enough,” he declared honestly._

_“Does he still live?”_

_“Not for much longer.”_

_“Because-because of what you did?” The question was timid and Jensen didn’t know what answer Jared hoped to hear._

_“Because of what I will do,” Jensen promised him._

_Jared braced one hand on Jensen’s chest and twisted around to meet his eyes, his hazel ones impossibly blue from his previous tears._

_“Don’t,” the younger man whispered, harsh and raw._

_“Would you rather someone else did the deed? Some red-capped_ bostancıs _fresh from the gardens and carrying a silken cord, perhaps?_ _” Jensen demanded, grip tightening around his boy. “Because it is my right.”_

_“No, it is not,” Jared countered softly._

_“And what of our child?” Jensen scoffed, nearly regretting the words the instant they flew from his mouth._

_“He didn’t have that right, either,” the lad rasped. “No one does. And yet he took a life.”_

_“By your own admission, I am due my revenge,” Jensen countered with conviction and he struggled to gentle his touch as his ire rose._

_“Didn’t Confucius say that a man embarking on a journey of revenge should dig two graves? Isn’t the one enough already?” Jared argued, lower lip trembling._

_“’Twas a mistranslation that too many make soft. What he actually said was that a gentleman who does not take revenge is not a gentleman.” Feeling the need to drive home his point, he added, “He also said that a gentleman might not take his revenge right away due to circumstances but he will remember it every day. And he shall take revenge when the timing is right, even if he must take the whole world with him,” he finished. His child’s world was already gone._

_Jared breathed hard against Jensen’s body. “’For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.’ And Jesus said, ‘Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.’”_

_“I can live with that,” Jensen promised him gladly._

_“I can’t,” the younger man cried. “Don’t you see? What good will it do to kill another?”_

_Jensen released his hold and it took a great deal of fortitude not to rail at his boy. “You cannot be this forgiving a soul. Our child is dead, Jared. Dead.” He didn’t notice the way Jared reeled as though struck by the vitriol of his words, too caught up in his tirade. “And he is the one responsible.” Jensen’s breathing became strained, erratic. “This is something I can set to rights. Why would you deny me that? Why, Jared?”_

_For several long moments, both men stared at one another as if daring the other to back down. Finally, Jared lowered his eyes and Jensen smiled inwardly. He was right. He knew he was right and he would make the one who stole his child from him pay. He might never see his own babe draw breath, but he would see Assaf’s last one. He would revel in it and dance on the man’s grave. And his death…his_ _death…would change nothing. His death would not return their child to them. His death would not give back the precious time he had missed; the only time he could have shared with his child. Those individual moments were lost like grains of sand to the vast sea of the Al-Ramlah. And though his child’s life had been cut down before it could even truly begin, what was lost before was because of him. Jensen could never set that to rights. He could never make peace with himself. He could never forgive himself. Never._

_“In time,” Jared murmured, “in time, you will forgive yourself.” What was the odd motion Jensen couldn't stop, like he swayed to and fro? He opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to discover himself somehow in Jared’s arms, his head cradled against his boy’s stomach. He didn't know when it had happened, nor when the tears had started. All he knew was the solid strength in the sinewy arms, which held him fast and strove to comfort him. And they did, as much as anything could in this place and time. For a brief measure, Jensen let himself be held and told himself he was worthy of the embrace._

_When he finally pulled away, surreptitiously slashing at his damp face, he only did so after he placed a chaste kiss on the younger man’s still flat (forever flat now) stomach. Jared’s fingers clamped tightly against Jensen’s skull before slowly combing through his short, blond strands and finally releasing him. Jensen tugged on his boy until he was resting against his chest once again, their positions as they had started. It strangely comforted him to be the one offering the comfort instead of the recipient. “I don’t know where you find your propensity for forgiveness, my love, but it is humbling. I-I wish I could be more like you in that respect,” he rasped, the ghosts of his tears still audible in every word._

_Jared choked out a sound that could be mistaken for a laugh. “I am hardly an admirable man. In point of fact, my own crimes started this chain of events that somehow brought us to this inexorable conclusion. But,” he barreled on, not allowing Jensen the opportunity to disagree, “more violence cannot be the way. Anger and hatred poison the soul and there is no panacea for that. I've lived in the heart of that for too long.”_

_“Poison,” Jensen murmured in agreement. “This entire place is one mass of seething corruption.”_

_“And the wound never heals, does it?” Jared prodded gently. Jensen thought he might have been asking about more, about what still lay between them. “Like the ouroboros forever eating its own tail, round and round it goes unto infinity.”_

_Jensen squeezed Jared close. He had no easy answers, but supposed if answers were easy, everyone would have them. He still longed to beat the life out of Assaf. His exchange with Jared hadn't changed that – those fires were merely banked – and the words of the Qur’an would forgive him for ending the life of a murderer, but he acknowledged the senseless nature of the act. It would give him pleasure, but fleeting, and would only promote a season of blood spilled for nothing. Death and, more importantly, life should hold more value than that._

_“I won't do it,” he rasped into Jared’s hair before resting his mouth there._

_His boy snaked his arms around Jensen’s right one and held fast. “’And if any one saved a life, it would be as if he saved the life of the whole people,’” Jared quoted. “You saved his life with your decision.”_

_“You’ve been reading the Qur’an?” Jensen asked, somewhat nonplussed._

_“I have been reading many things,” Jared replied quietly. “I have had some time on my hands.”_

_There was no recrimination in the words despite the fact that there should have been. Jensen was reminded again how much he had wronged his boy and, selfishly, hoped Jared’s ability to forgive would eventually extend to him. If only he could be the same kind of man in return. “You are the one who saved him, Jared, because I don't have that capacity to forgive like you do. I wish I did.”_

_“Perhaps someday…” the lad breathed._

_“Someday,” Jensen agreed and hoped it was the truth. “But you are a good man,” he exhaled in his boy’s ear, pressing another kiss there._

_“Oh,” Jared shivered, eyes widening._

_Jensen felt as well as saw the ripple travel through the younger man’s body. His mind flashed to fevers and seizures and he began to panic, never again wanting to see the way Jared’s body bowed and contorted from the poison._

_“What is it? What ails you?” he demanded anxiously._

_Jared, eyes still ridiculously wide, grabbed Jensen’s hand and pressed it right up against his abdomen. Jensen pleaded with him to explain what was wrong, fearing the pain had returned and robbed the lad of his voice. He was about to shout for Genevieve when he felt…something. His first reaction was to yank his hand back as though he'd been burned by an open flame, but Jared pushed down harder over Jensen’s hand. They stared at one another and said nothing. Jensen had no idea how much time passed and he was almost ready to reclaim his hand when he felt it again. Only this time, he knew what it was._

_Butterfly wings._

_Jensen ducked his head down and began to pepper Jared’s stomach with kisses, while Jared laughed and wept simultaneously. His violinist fingers captured Jensen’s head and held it in place over his stomach, over where their child still lived despite all odds. He finally worked himself free enough to place fervent kisses along Jared’s face while his boy clung to him tightly, laughing honestly between the kisses he returned with equal zeal._

_When they broke apart, faces flushed with hope and joy, Jensen sat up and called for Genevieve. The poor, exhausted woman entered quickly, stumbling over her makeshift bedding in the process._

_“What is it?” she cried in distress, one hand struggling with the sheet twisted about her ankle._

_“Get Richings here,” Jensen explained, eyes still on his boy._

_“Is he worse?” she fretted, caught between entering and fleeing the room._

_Jensen looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. “Tell him the child still lives.”_

_The tiny whirlwind took off like a shot, her feet slapping against the polished stones far louder than her small body belied. Jensen splayed his hand on Jared’s stomach, hunting out the precious movement in a far braver manner than he had before. All the while, the two of them exchanged foolish grins and soft kisses between the searches. “Still there,” Jensen said with awe._

_“Thank God,” Jared breathed. And Jensen couldn't find fault with him there. Their child was a miracle, truly the best parts of themselves that somehow survived a cataclysm that should have destroyed it._

_“I understand there has been a development,” came a succinct voice behind them._

_Reluctantly, Jensen rolled off the bed to stand beside the doctor. Jensen had no idea how the man managed it, but Richings was impeccable as ever and seemed impervious to the haggard weariness that hung over the rest of them despite the uplifting turn of events. He was in fresh robes and carried his ever-present case at his side, waiting for permission to approach. Genevieve went to close the doors behind her, but Jared frantically waved her over and she didn't hesitate to join him on the far side of his bed as soon as she had shut the doors up._

_“I felt the child move,” Jared exclaimed in a rush, whether it was directed toward Genevieve or the doctor, Jensen couldn't be certain._

_Genevieve came close to tears herself at the news and clasped her hands together. Richings was more sedate in his reaction, still looking to Jared for consent that his boy granted eagerly._

_Pulling up a chair on Jared’s right, Jensen standing just behind him, the doctor opened his case and extracted an odd device that looked much like a miniature French horn attached to a small wand. “This is a modified ear trumpet,” he explained to Jared. “I would like to place this end,” he indicated the flared opening, “against your abdomen and listen for few minutes.”_

_“Yes, yes,” Jared happily agreed._

_His enthusiasm was not lost on the man. “Jared, what you think you felt might not be what you hope it is. The stomach and other organs can emit certain sounds and vibrations at times and you haven't had a proper meal in days.” When Jared’s face dimmed, he added, “I don't say these things to wound you, but instead to manage your expectations.”_

_“I know what it was,” the young man replied firmly, moving his hands aside to allow the doctor access. “And this was no ‘undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato’.”_

_Jensen wiped at his eyes over his boy and his endless love of Dickens despite the gravity of the situation._

_Richings nodded gravely and placed the device over Jared’s stomach, holding onto the wand with one hand and prodding the lad’s torso with the other. “I would ask that everyone remain silent,” he requested._

_Jensen alternately watched the back of the older man’s head and then his boy’s face, hoping to see that pleased, startled expression that meant proof of life. But when nothing happened, Jensen grew anxious. Perhaps that motion had been as Richings implied – simply digestive functions. Richings, meanwhile, repositioned the trumpet and continued to gently prod and manipulate Jared’s stomach. The Englishman’s joy, which had been mostly undiminished since the doctor’s pronouncement, began to wane as well. Richings began to pull back, when his head twitched and he moved the trumpet slightly higher. Jensen snapped his eyes up to Jared and saw a dimpled smile had lightened his entire visage. He knew then that both men had felt it._

_“You are indeed correct. I was able to detect movement,” the physician announced. Genevieve made a sound that was reminiscent of the feral cat Jensen unsuccessfully tried to trap as a pet when he was six. It wasn't a pleasant sound then and wasn't one now. He himself exhaled noisily, relief a palpable presence in the room with them. “What is so fortunate is that children of carriers seem to develop faster in the earlier stages of pregnancy than those of women, slowing down and keeping apace as things progress later. I would not have been able to find anything otherwise so soon.”_

_Jensen fiercely rubbed his hand across his mouth as he stepped back and took a minute to collect himself. He was only peripherally aware of the conversation around him, as his boy, thrumming with happiness, apologized for his early outburst with the doctor. For his part, Richings smoothly brushed away Jared’s concerns, explaining how someone in his position couldn't be held responsible for his words or deeds, caught up in it all as he was. As the three chatted on, Jensen took in the full scene before him and his joy began to ebb._

_While he was profoundly grateful for the turn of events, in the end, nothing had changed. Jared and his child were still in jeopardy as it dawned on Jensen that Assaf might not be the only viper in the palace nest. He was simply the one who had been ferreted out by his foul machinations. Jensen still had to deal with Alaina and the way she controlled the concubines’ very bodily functions. For all he knew, there could be a veritable slew of others simply biding their time, waiting for the perfect, vulnerable opportunity. Even as his mind whirled with plans – envisioning moving Jared into his rooms, additional guards – that might help combat any unseen threat, there was a knock on the doors._

_Raising his hand to Genevieve indicating that she could remain by his boy’s side, Jensen stepped to the door with one hand reaching for his janbiya and realizing he’d never collected it after his encounter with the odalik. A cold wave washed through him as he cautiously opened the door, ready to slam it shut at the first sign of a renewed threat. But there was only the scarred Qasim there to greet him. The small group of eunuchs shifted about in their unease, still not used to the affront of harem sanctity that was the other man’s presence, but remained stationed at the base of the stairs._

_“What?” he snapped in Arabic._

_“Assaf is dead,” the other man replied without preamble._

_“Who dared?” If someone had taken what was rightfully his, there would be hell to pay, promise to Jared or not._

_“By his own hand,” Qasim spat and Jensen shuddered._

_Suicide was an unforgivable sin. Assaf would be forbidden entry to Paradise. Furthermore, the Hadiths made very clear his eternal fate._ _Abu Hurayrah relayed that the Prophet said “Whoever kills himself with a piece of iron, that piece of iron will be in his hand and he will be stabbing himself in the stomach with it in the Fire of Hell, for ever and ever.” Jensen shuddered despite the lingering warmth of the day. But for what that man had dared, he decided, that punishment might be enough._

_“Bury the body,” he ordered the other man. As he squared his shoulders, in his mind’s eye, the phantom of a small boy with dark eyes and hair, sharing secrets and giggling, flitted about. One look over his shoulder as Jared, with one hand resting on his stomach, chatted excitedly with Genevieve banished that memory to the farthest corner of his mind. “And there shall be no Salat al-Janazah sung for him.” No prayers to send off one who had committed such a grievous sin._

_When the other man did not take his leave, Jensen sighed. “What else?”_

_“There is a delegate from Doheh wanting an audience with you,” Qasim answered._

_Jensen resisted the urge to clasp the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He had no time for diplomatic games. “The Trucial Sheikhdoms?” That blasted perpetual maritime truce with England. As far as he knew, he was never meant to be a part of the consortium that was set to meet with the British envoys. Jensen rolled his shoulders, preparing to dismiss it outright, when he noticed the other man’s unease._

_“What haven’t you told me?” he asked with narrowed gaze._

_Even in the late light, the whitening of the other man’s scar was noticeable. “They have arrived with a contingent of armed soldiers.”_

_“Whose soldiers? British?” Jensen growled. Despite a “treaty”, matters were mostly unsettled and an armed company of men here was at the very least an insult, if not an outright challenge._

_“Yes,” Qasim hissed. “Specifically, the Honorable East India Company soldiers and one of their agents.” Jensen suddenly understood the other man’s agitation more clearly, knowing how he, like Nasih, had a deep, abiding hatred for the John Company._

_Jensen knew there would be no escaping this. He nodded, mostly to himself, before he said, “Tell them I will be along shortly. Let them wait, but,” he added, since he knew the scarred man wouldn’t, “offer them and their men refreshments if they choose to take them. Have the main room in my receiving chamber made ready.”_

_Qasim touched his forehead, lips and chest in an abbreviated bow and left._

_Jensen turned around, but the others were speaking in the same animated fashion. Clearly, no one else had caught the exchange and he was grateful to have an unguarded minute to observe Jared. His boy was happy, his companion sitting nearby with a huge smile on her face and even the dour Richings’ lips were quirked upwards. The drapes had been pulled aside completely and the warm light flooded the room. Jensen had the oddest sensation as he appreciated the scene before him as though he were viewing Daguerre’s diorama in the Saint Gervais-Saint Protais church. Everything was too perfect and not quite real in the golden sun. As he played the role of observer, desperate to immortalize the moment, he knew it was already gone._

_Catching sight of him, Jared smiled his dimpled grin, the one that made his eyes sparkle and Jensen returned it as best he could, but his heart was no longer in it. His boy cocked his head, expression a little less bright, and brushed absently at his messy fringe. Jensen walked over and used that as his excuse._

_“If the doctor has no objections, perhaps Jared could be allowed to refresh himself? And Genevieve could air out the room and change the bedding. I have to admit that I wouldn't object to a bath myself,” he laughed in a deprecating manner at his own robes. In that instant, he decided to withhold not only the odalik’s demise, but the identity of his new guests. “Qasim has brought to my attention an important matter that although I wish I could postpone, it is one I don't have the luxury to.” He hoped that that would be enough to quell any questions Jared might want to ask, at least in front of the others._

_The physician recognized a dismissal when he heard one. “I am quite through for the time being. Jared knows to take care and not overexert himself unduly. However, I see no reason for him not to ease back into his normal routine.”_

_He rose gracefully and collected his case. “I am so very pleased for you,” he told Jared solemnly and then faced Jensen. “For you both.”_

_“I will forever be in your debt,” Jensen intoned with equal gravitas. “Anything you would want of me is yours,” he swore._

_“There is no need. Your father opened his library to me, sheltered me and offered me the freedom to pursue my dream. I already have more than a man has a right to. Whatever services I can offer in return is my way of repaying my debt.” With that, the dignified man glided out of the chamber._

_Genevieve squeezed Jared’s hand before heading to the bath to make it ready for him._

_Alone, Jared looked up, his expression sadly curious. “What has happened?” he asked._

_“A delegate from the Trucial Sheikhdom is here and as much as I wish I could avoid meeting with him, I cannot,” Jensen replied as honestly as he could. He sank down beside his boy and tucked some of his wayward fringe behind his ear. Jared’s eyes closed and he tilted his face towards the gentle touch. Jensen couldn't resist and swooped down to steal a featherlight kiss. When he pulled back, he admitted, “I would never leave your side if it was my choice. You understand?”_

_That woefully puzzled look was back on the younger man’s face. “I do,” he told Jensen. “Of course, I do. You have responsibilities to your people. I understand.”_

_Jensen smiled sweetly. “I do have responsibilities.” With a lingering caress to the lad’s stomach, Jensen stole a final kiss. “Thank you,” he said thickly and left without another word._

_He bathed with impersonal quickness, scrubbing the sweat and stink of living in fear for two days from his body. When he dressed, he chose only his finest robes, which spoke of his wealth and power. Dressed from head to toe in black, the fine golden threads woven throughout the garments picked up the last rays of the sun and glinted like fire as he moved with dread certainty to his receiving chambers. His guards flanked him silently, scimitars visible, as he entered from a side passage so that he appeared near his seat as if by magic before the assembled group._

_He had an instant to observe them unawares. There was a small handful of soldiers – he suspected the remaining detachment was outside the building – standing at attention. The men wore the black trousers and red jackets, chests crisscrossed with white belts, distinctive to one of the Presidencies of India, most likely Bombay as it was geographically closest. But these men were not the Sepoys trained by the British, but regiments of the Crown itself. One even carried the E.I.C. flag, its red and white horizontal stripes, with the Union Jack as its canton, was as singular as their uniform. Another man, whom Jensen did not recognize immediately, stood to one side. Judging by his clothes and complexion, Jensen rightly guessed he was the delegate that Qasim had mentioned. But what caught his attention and stole his breath was the dark clad man in the midst of the gathering. Standing easily a head above the rest, his brunette hair a barely tamed bird’s nest, was James Padalecki._

_His former roommate was the first to spy Jensen’s arrival and they two stared openly at one another. Although his clothes disguised it somewhat, the other man had lost weight since Jensen last knew him. There were smudges under his eyes that appeared painted, unreal in their shadows. And although James always had a strong jaw, it was now more defined and almost cruel. Gone was his serious but jovial companion. And it struck Jensen then how far his wrongs had spread._

_“Sheikh Ankour,” the elder Padalecki began. “How good of you to join us.”_

_Jensen acknowledged him with the dip of his head. The other man, some sheikh from another tribe, stepped forward and they exchanged proper salaams. “As-salāmu ʿalaykum,” the older man said._

_“Waʿalaykumu s-salām,” Jensen replied._

_James, however, was not of a mind to be cordial. Jensen recognized the barely controlled disdain that had formerly been reserved for the man’s father. And it was all directed at him. “Where is my brother?” he demanded, striding forward. Jensen’s personal guards lowered their hands to their swords, but Jensen stopped them with a single word as the other sheikh grasped James by his upper arm and whispered furiously in his ear. James was not happy but held his ground grudgingly._

_“Sheikh Ankour,” the older man began, switching to English for the benefit of the British present. “It has been made known to us that you might be offering shelter to an Englishman that was feared lost in the desert some months ago.”_

_The diplomacy of the phrasing was not wasted on Jensen. “And if I were so benevolent, what matter is it of yours?”_

_James made as if to move closer, but the sheikh stopped him with a hand. “There is a distinct possibility that you may have rescued this man’s younger brother. If that is the case, the British government would like to bestow their gratitude upon you for your generosity.”_

_“And how grateful would they be?”_

_“They would be willing to grant us additional concessions in the treaty that we are poised to sign,” the other man replied. Jensen had never met him before but was impressed with his command of the English language. It was no surprise why he had been chosen amongst the many, many sheikhs of the various regions to be a part of the delegation._

_“And are they commensurate with my act of kindness?” Jensen pressed. He was being difficult. He knew that. Because this man before him was offering him the very answer to his dilemma. He could let Jared go home and not only would the foundation of the sheikhs’ traditional practices remain unquestioned, he wouldn’t lose face for releasing the lad. Quite the opposite, actually. Jared’s discharge would garner him immeasurable favor and good will from his neighbors. It was clearly not only the sole solution, but one that was tidy and rewarding. And still Jensen did not want to say “yes”._

_As he stood there in his finest raiment, he completely understood his father. Not only would he be losing the love of his life, but his only child as well. How on earth was a man supposed to sacrifice that when all he had to do was deny Jared’s presence? Despite the show of force, it was miniscule in the grand scheme of things. No sheikh would support an outsider invading their harem. He certainly wouldn’t lose any standing by his denial. His thoughts, however, drifted back to his boy and how he had nearly lost him, not to mention their babe. There was no way he could fool himself into believing he could guarantee Jared’s safety with absolute surety. And, he admitted to himself, no matter how gilded, this place was nothing more than a cage to him; a cage that would eventually rob him of his happiness, like it had his mother._

_He would stop being his father. He would stop being the snake that consumed itself in an endless cycle._

_Slowly, Jensen removed the chain with the key that he wore around his neck and motioned for one of the eunuchs. He whispered instructions into the man’s ear before sending him off with it. To continue with their polite ruse, Jensen then said, “There is a young man who has been a guest here for some months. I was unable to find a suitable means to ensure his safe passage back to his homeland, what with the Bani Yas and other, pressing concerns.”_

_“Very understandable,” the other sheikh agreed. “I am so pleased to be able to offer you this peace of mind to know that someone you have clearly valued and sheltered will be well taken care of and returned safely to his homeland.”_

_“Please allow me to offer you my hospitality while we wait,” and Jensen nodded to the servants waiting in the wings. They carried out trays of food and many different types of beverages, spreading it all out on the tables arranged along the far wall. The sheikh bowed and turned to the soldiers, urging them not to offend their host by refusing. James gave a curt nod to the ranking officer and the men descended on_ _the refreshments. The only one who remained close was James. And he wasted no time approaching Jensen. Murmuring to his personal guards that he was safe enough, Jensen allowed him to approach._

_“My brother was no guest here,” the older Padalecki hissed. “He was your prisoner. How could you? What kind of a monster are you to do that to him?”_

_Jensen had no answer for him and knew it was pointless to try. Instead, he asked him, “How were you able to find him, James?”_

_“It’s Dr. Padalecki to you,” the younger man snapped and by the way he clenched and unclenched his hands, it was obvious that the good doctor was itching for a fight. Jensen pondered if fisticuffs would suffice or if his anger ran bloodier than that. He suspected the only thing keeping him in check was because Jared had not yet been produced. James wouldn’t risk their tenuous agreement needlessly._

_Nostril flaring, he continued on. “Two months. It took two months from when he was taken for me to get word of it from Captain Omundson. Nearly a month of wrangling transportation,” and that surprised Jensen, given George’s prominence in John Company, “and then two months to get to this bloody country.”_

_When the other man fell silent, Jensen raised an eyebrow. “I spent weeks trying to find someone who might have known where he was. It was like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay,” James admitted. “And there weren’t many Qataris willing to be forthcoming with me. When I had returned to Doheh to resupply, imagine my surprise when I came across a local carrying a copy of A Christmas Carol. My brother’s copy, in point of fact.”_

_The man who had been Jared’s guide. The one that Nasih finally confessed to having begged for Jared’s life on bended knee after the lad had been struck down. He huffed out a laugh. That unassuming act of charity turned out to be the linchpin to Jared’s rescue._

_“Once the man, who I will not name for fear of some retribution on your part, saw me, he recognized the familial resemblance and told me everything,” James sneered and moved up closer, forcing Jensen to tilt his head back to still meet his eye. “You might not have set out to take him, but you’re just as guilty as if you had. My God,” he growled lowly, “my father had been right about you lot all along.”_

_And though Jensen knew the younger man had no idea the length and breadth of his sin, he still bridled at the physical threat implied in the taller man’s stance and couldn’t leave it unanswered. It wasn’t in his nature._

_“Please, Dr. Padalecki,” the other sheikh's timely interruption halted James in his tracks, “come over here and refresh yourself after the long journey.”_

_“Yes, James,” Jensen said with forced solicitousness, “you could do with some cooling off.”_

_James all but sneered at him as he walked away, throwing more than a few dirty glares back at him as he did so._

_The tension wound up his spine and Jensen was fairly vibrating with it. He didn’t know how long he would be able to keep up the veneer of basic civility, probably wouldn’t have managed as long as he had if not for the old sheik’s attendance. Before he was able to be tested again, a small commotion at the proper entrance to the room had all heads turning. Bordered by a pair of eunuchs, with Genevieve and Richings behind him, Jared walked in. The current figure he cut was shocking to Jensen, who had grown used to seeing his boy in silks that clung to his body. That was no more._

_Dressed in the clothes Jensen had specially tailored for him, it was almost like that first day that Jared had been brought to him. However, the cream colored trousers and waistcoat were crisp and clean, not filthy and torn. And Jared…Jared was glowing in the ruddy sunset. His hair, freshly washed, was still damp at the ends, which curled riotously about his collar. He chewed his lower lip, slanted eyes darting about the room. The sight of the soldiers undoubtedly unsettled him. When he spotted Jensen, his lower lip slipped free and he began to smile. Before Jensen had a chance to return the gesture, James called out, “Jared!”_

_And just like that, Jensen faded into the backdrop for his boy. Jared was agog when he discovered the source of the cry, eyes popping. He had barely taken two steps before James had all but swallowed him up in an embrace that must have been bone-crushing. Jensen heard only a few words, “brother” and “Gigglemug”, whispered fervently as the two men seemed determined to fuse themselves together. Jensen’s smile as he watched was tremulous, but true._

_When they finally broke apart, James – possibly the only man tall enough to attempt it – kept an arm slung around Jared’s shoulders, holding him close. For his part, Jared twisted his head around to search out Jensen._

_“Thank you for this,” he started to say as James began to herd him from the room, the soldiers in step behind them._

_“Come on, little brother,” James croaked, on the verge of an emotional scene._

_Jared’s brow furrowed as he looked from James to Jensen. Jensen continued to smile and raised his hand as James quickly ushered Jared from his sight. Genevieve lingered by his side, also appearing equally as lost._

_“He-he was surprised by the clothes,” she whispered, “and we had a devil of a time because the pants wouldn’t button. I told him the waistcoat hid that, but he wanted to look nice for you. I don’t understand…” she trailed off as the older sheikh stopped in front of Jensen._

_“Thank you,” he said, slipping back to Arabic. “Your understanding won’t be forgotten. I know the loss is great, but it will be made up to you.”_

No, you have no idea what I’ve lost, _Jensen thought._ What I have lost is irreplaceable.

_“As long as it was worth it for us in the end,” was what he said instead. “I will have some rooms readied for you and your guests for the night.”_

And perhaps if I can pry Jared away from his brother for a few hours tonight, I can explain. Maybe he can finally forgive me. Maybe I can finally forgive him.

_The older man shook his head. “No need, Sheikh Ankour. We are leaving immediately. With the other soldiers outside, we will be safe enough and the sooner I can get these Englishman out of our lands, the better it will be for all of us.” The man bowed elaborately and took his leave._

_Jensen stood stock still. He could run after his boy, but what would be the purpose? In the end, he had to let him go for all of their sakes. It was much too late for anything more._

_“He’s gone?” Genevieve gasped, but it didn’t really sound like a question._

 

Jensen sniffed and blamed the stinging in his eyes on the way the light glinted at him from the pocket watch. His boy’s departure had been so abrupt that Jensen hadn't had the chance to return the few possessions of Jared's that he had held onto from the beginning. Now they were all that he had left.

“Sheikh?” someone asked timidly. So lost in thought, Jensen startled and dropped the watch onto his desk.

“What is it?” he snapped.

The guard remained where he stood, but cleared his voice. “Your guest is here, awaiting you in the stables.”

Regaining his composure, Jensen sat up straighter. “Send word that I will be along shortly.” The guard bowed and hurried out a little too eagerly. All his servants skittered out of his way these days.

About to rise, Jensen noticed that the pocket watch had popped open where it fell. As he reached for it, Jensen realized he’d never opened the cursed object himself. It was too easy to recall how George had snapped the damn thing shut in his company as a signal that he was through with him; as if he could dismiss Jensen as easily. Picking up the heavy piece, he turned it about, perversely wanting to see what time it had wound down to, knowing that would be close to when Jared had been taken and became his. When he saw what was inside the timepiece, however, he was grateful he was still seated.

Tucked into the inside cover was a small sketch, done only in charcoals. With a shaking finger, Jensen traced over his own likeness. He didn’t need anyone to tell him what moment Jared had captured; he’d know that cravat and jacket until the day he died. He had chosen with exquisite care that day, donning an outfit he’d never worn before, wanting everything about his proposal to Jared to be unique and memorable. But it was the expression Jared had immortalized that chilled him.

He needed no mirror to know that must have been how he had appeared after Jared had said those hated words. In the sketch, he was frozen, mouth agape and eyes boring straight into the viewer. There was no confidence in the man pictured, only emotionless shock. And this is what Jared carried with him, saw multiple times every, single day and what he had been willing to face armed men to retrieve. It was what his boy had reached for out of reflex long after he had lost possession of it.

Jensen plucked the tiny sketch from where it was nestled in the cover to examine it closer (or burn the damned thing), turning it about in his hands. Along the inside of the watch, there was a fresh inscription underneath it.

_Noli umquam oblivisci._

Latin for “Never forget”.

He carefully returned the sketch to its original place and snapped it all shut. Jensen regarded the watch he held in his hand, its fine, golden fob delicate and fragile as it dangled from his fingers. It was too much and he began to laugh, broken and stilted in the silence.

“’I wear the chain I forged in life,' replied the Ghost. ‘I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it.’” Dickens’ words returned too easily to him.

“What a ponderous guilt you never set aside, Jared,” he whispered and his eyes were drawn to the other item that now seemed to hold the answer to a question he had been too afraid to ask before.

As Jensen placed the watch aside, eyeing his boy’s journal with a new appreciation, he wondered if the time had come for him to break that oath he had made near a brook on a sunny day when the world had been ripe with promise and hope.

He wondered.

When he stretched out his hand, it was steady.

 


	31. Chapter 31

_ _

It should have been so easy. All he had to do was reach down and pick up the journal. He had stared at it for so long that he was as familiar with every crease and crack in the aged leather like the palms of his own hands. And between that worn binding was a collection of Jared’s thoughts and memories that spanned years.

Jared.

The name was like a knife in his heart.

Gone already a month, Jensen couldn't help but to worry about his boy and their child. From a hidden vantage point, he’d watched James bundle Jared up into a horse-drawn carriage, while a sizable contingent of mounted E.I.C. soldiers surrounded it. Jared had turned and twisted his head about the whole time, wildly waving his arms, as James practically carried him inside. Jensen had been within a hair’s breadth of casting aside his vow to let Jared go at that sight and had been ready to mount up Shaitan and chase them down. But he finally knew how wrong he had been to have kept his boy a prisoner within his gilded cage. And he had also admitted to himself that his child would have no life here. If it was a boy, he would be in line for the throne, always waiting to see if he would be needed for the role. If a girl, then she would be a political bargaining chip to curry favor or seal an arrangement between leaders.

With those solemn thoughts in mind, Jensen had merely gripped the window ledge tightly and watched his family disappear into the fading glare of the setting sun, the Maghrib prayer a woeful dirge to send them off. He told himself that day and every one that had followed it was for the best. He hoped one day he might grow to believe it.

And now he was tempted to “see” the world through Jared’s eyes with the only piece of the lad that he still possessed. As he shifted a glance to the gold watch, knowing what lay within it, Jensen suspected there _was_ something more to that horrible day back in Somerset. But, like a traitorous viper curled about his heart, fear held sway, too. What if all he were to find was Jared’s genuine revulsion at the prospect of being with him? He was finally able to convince himself that Jared was a good soul. But those words carved wounds so deep that Jensen nevertheless had doubts. The lad had grown up in a poisonous household and as Jensen knew firsthand, those kinds of roots ran deep and held fast despite the best of intentions. Was he ready to risk having his wounds gouged open again?

“Sheikh?”

Jensen snapped out of his deliberations. “What?” he grunted.

The servant danced from one foot to the other. “Your guest wonders if he should look for accommodations in the town and seek an audience tomorrow.”

Growing agitated with the visitor’s temerity, Jensen huffed, “I sent word along that I would be there shortly. If he has no patience, then tell him to go.”

The servant continued to fidget. “Well, what is it?” Jensen finally demanded, seeing how the slave had something pressing on him.

“Forgive my rudeness, my Sheikh, but your last message to him was over an hour ago.”

An hour?

“That cannot –” he started, twisting in his seat. But then he noticed the way the quality of light had softened from the harshness of midday to mellow afternoon. He had lost track of time, simply staring at Jared’s journal. A glance at his empty glass to the right of the watch reminded him that the bourbon had probably lent a hand in that lost time.

Standing carefully so as not to sway, Jensen regarded the servant. “Send my assurances that I am en route,” he commanded. The slave bowed and hurried out.

Jensen locked away the watch and journal and he couldn't deny a part of him was glad of the reprieve. He wasn't yet ready to have what was left of his heart dashed on the rocks of prejudiced hatred. He stepped into his bath briefly to refresh himself as best he could in short order, barely acknowledging his reflection. He knew his beard was longer and unkempt. Furthermore, he needed no visual reminder that his eyes were shadowed and sunken. There was little he could do to change that condition. Sleep had been elusive since the day of Jared’s departure, only coming in fits and starts unless he partook of spirits to ease his way into restless dreams where there was more often than not a child crying in them.

Dismissing his looks, he changed into fresh clothes, dutifully dressing as someone of his rank and station. Few tried to catch his eye as he exited his chambers. No longer attempting to curry his attention, his servants scuttled aside, hoping for the exact opposite – to remain anonymous in the face of his changed demeanor. Jensen decided that was for the best and did nothing to bridge the gap between himself and them.

 _Better_ , he mused, _to be aloof and feared_ by _them than to be vulnerable_ to _them_.

Just outside the stables, several men loitered, carefully watched by Jensen’s personal guard. At least one of the men, judging by his garb, appeared to be Syrian. The rest were no more than local guides and protection, most likely hired for this portion of his guest’s quest. Jensen nodded to Nasih, who returned the gesture.

“He is waiting inside,” his second informed him.

Jensen entered the stables and closed his eyes for a brief time as he was assailed by the pungent aroma of hay and horse sweat. It was calming in the way few things had been of late and he appreciated it, savored it even. After all, it would be the last time he would allow himself this luxury. And he was not alone in his appreciation. Off to one side, his visitor waited, too caught up by the occupants of the building to know he was being observed. Jensen took a moment to regard the man while he was unawares.

Mr. A. Keene Richards, as he preferred to sign his posts, was not an overly remarkable man. Of average height, he had brown hair styled not unlike Jared’s other favorite writer, the recently deceased Poe, parted on one side and slicked back neatly. Jensen was momentarily vain enough to be grateful his kufiya hid his unruly locks. Although the man was a Yank, his bespoke suit all but announced “Savile Row” and that, along with his proposition to Jensen, meant the man was one of means. Jensen only needed to verify that his intent in person matched the passion with which he had written.

Coughing slightly to give away his presence, Jensen smiled and extended his hand. “Mr. Richards, I presume?”

Jumping like a child caught eyeing sweets he shouldn't eat, he composed himself quickly and met Jensen’s hand with his own. “Sheikh Ankour,” he drawled. The cadence of his speech was slower and more drawn out than Jensen had ever heard before. “It is a pleasure, sir. Although I have a man with me who speaks your language far better than I could hope to, I made the assumption he wasn't needed based on our correspondence.”

“No, Mr. Richards, I don't think an interpreter will be necessary for this,” Jensen agreed. A part of him rankled, taking the other man’s words to mean that he was surprised that Jensen was apparently clever enough to grasp English. “Unless _your_ education was sorely lacking, I suspect you shouldn't need him to make your points clear to me.”

The man’s light-colored eyes widened slightly and he jerked back his head, making his already soft jaw appear jowly. Then he smiled and let out a loud guffaw. “Touché, sir. I shall do my very best to keep up. If it isn’t impertinent, might I ask where you learned English?”

“Why would it matter?” Jensen responded guardedly, starting to think this meeting had been ill-advised.

“It's just that you have a flat way of speaking. To be frank, you sound like a damned Yankee.” And then he laughed again.

Jensen quirked an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were all Yanks.”

It was the other man’s turn to be miffed. “Sir, where I hail from, those are practically fightin’ words. In the United States, we refer to those of the Northern persuasion as ‘Yanks’.” Then the man relaxed his stance and chuckled. “I was twenty-one years of age before I learned that 'damn' and 'Yankee' were separate words. I guess that makes us even-stevens now, don’t it? I didn't mean to insult your education and you didn't mean to insult my integrity. Can we start again?”

Jensen decided to give the man another chance. “I think that would be for the best.” Offering an olive branch, he continued, “Would you like to tour the stables, Mr. Richards?”

“Sir, I have been itching to do that very thing since I set foot in here,” and then he added, “I would be pleased if you'd call me Keene. Alexander is too much of a mouthful for my tastes. But what can you do when your Daddy names you?”

“All right, Keene,” Jensen said. He supposed a similar offer on his part would be good manners, but he didn't have it in him to be that informal with the man. With a grand gesture, Jensen ushered him forward. “I don’t suppose you have any interest in my camels, do you?”

“Sheikh, I have seen enough camels to last me a lifetime. I swear, if I get spat on one more time, I'm going to start spitting back.”

“And how long have you been traveling, Keene?” Jensen was hard-pressed not to laugh at the man’s exasperation with the “ships of the desert”. Aroob could spit with the best of them. He knew that first-hand.

“I started this trip when I was twenty-four years of age and I turned twenty-six in October. I have to admit to a certain degree of homesickness despite the importance of my mission,” he confessed. “But I am committed to find the very best and not return home until I do.”

“Yes, your mission,” Jensen murmured. “You were quite outspoken in your missives. To return the honesty, it was that passion that made me consider this meeting.”

Keene stopped as they reached the end of the stables that was devoted to the camels and faced Jensen directly. “I am determined to import the best Arabs that can be found here and cross them with our best mares.” Jensen winced internally at the way Keene turned the “a” in Arab into a long vowel, but let it pass for the time being. “I made myself acquainted with the modern importations by going to England, France, and Spain, and examining the best Arabs belonging to those governments.” He paused and rubbed his hands together. “I have visited Morocco, and the interior of Algeria. I went to Tunis, to Egypt, and from Egypt through Arabian Petra and the desert east of Damascus as far as Palmyra.

“Some English writers contend," Keene continued, "that a degeneracy is taking place in our horses, and that the best Arab blood must be resorted to and I am of a mind to agree wholeheartedly. I have confidence in the result as to the improvement of our fine stock for the turf, for harness and saddle."

“And you will breed these horses with your own back in…was it Kentucky?” Jensen asked.

“Exactly, Sheikh. I will treat these animals like the treasures they are and hope to improve the Thoroughbred breed to the point of unparalleled excellence once more.” Keene’s eyes were shining as he shared his dreams. “Thanks to the fortunes of my birth, I have had the luxury to devote all of my time and resources to the endeavor and will continue to do so until I am cold in my grave.”

The intense emotions from his letters were even more present in his cadent speech and Jensen did not believe it was affected. The younger man had literally travelled the world searching for the finest steeds and Jensen was extremely sympathetic to his cause. His animals deserved that level of devotion and it was something that Jensen had been unable to rise to of late. He no longer felt worthy of the animals and by happy accident, someone who did had come along at the most fortuitous time.

“I think you will be pleased with what you see,” Jensen told him and urged him, with a hand at the man’s back, to continue to the side of the stables assigned to the horses. When they turned the corner, the gentleman was struck speechless.

Silently, they passed one stall after another. Keene’s eyes were fairly popping out of his head at the animals before him, with their perfectly curved necks, large eyes and dished profiles. Neither man said a word, but there was a reverence in the way the young Kentuckian took note of each stallion and mare they passed. When they came up to Alya, Keene finally broke the quiet.

“Is-is that blood?” he breathed and he started to reach out to touch the mare, but caught himself in time.

“She’s a flea-bitten gray, but that mark there,” Jensen stroked his hand along her chest and right shoulder over the splatter of maroon that decorated her hide, “is known as the ‘bloody shoulder’. You’ve never heard of it?”

Keene, mesmerized by the easy way Jensen handled the beast, shook his head.

Facing the mare and brushing his fingers against her nose, Jensen explained. “There is a legend and, like all legends, some of the details vary. Sometimes there is a sheikh, sometimes a Beduin warrior, but the gist remains the same. The man has a prized mare, pale like Alya, but heavy with foal. While he was out riding,” and Jensen paused to throw Keene a look over his shoulder, “or out protecting his land, or challenging a rival,” he made a rolling gesture with one hand, “the sheikh ends up grievously injured. His mare, ever faithful, carries him surely back to his people, evading capture.” Jensen pet her side and stepped back, smiling.

“As many legends go, it ends badly for the man. He dies on the way back, but the mare is so loyal and perfect, she makes sure he stays astride and delivers his body back to his people. They are grateful to the faithful horse and try to clean her where her master’s blood has stained her hide, but it is impossible to do so. That night, she delivers a healthy foal with a pattern like this,” he paused to point back at Alya’s markings. “The man’s people take it as a sign that the Creator was pleased by her loyalty and marked her child to show that He blessed her line.”

“May I?” the younger man asked, soft and deferential. Jensen gave his unspoken permission and Keene brushed his fingers along the marked shoulder as if to prove to himself it truly was her hide. “What does her name mean?”

“Heavenly,” he answered quickly.

Shaking his head, the Kentuckian eventually moved along only to gasp at what he saw in the final stall. “Oh, my Lord,” he exhaled.

Despite everything, Jensen couldn't help but puff up his chest with satisfaction. “Shaitan,” he said, more to the stallion than to his guest.

“Satan?” Keene gasped. “Quite the pair. Heaven and the Devil.”

“Your Arabic isn't too bad after all,” Jensen conceded. “Yes, this is my devil. And my pride. My legacy, if you will.”

And Shaitan was glorious. Someone had groomed him to perfection. His coat shone like oiled coal, black as night. His mane and tail had been combed so his hair was a silky mass of obsidian, swallowing the light and reflecting only small portions of it back. When the stallion spotted Jensen, he picked up his front legs, pawing at the ground, letting his displeasure be known to all and sundry. When Jensen stretched out his hand, the stallion flared his nostrils and kicked out at the back of his stall. Jensen understood his anger. Since Jared’s pregnancy prevented him from riding, Jensen hadn't ridden the animals. However, since he lost his boy, he had all but neglected them personally and relied on the stable hands to take care of all their needs. He believed he no longer deserved them, so had allowed others to exercise them, but not ride them. And he finally realized that he was torturing not only himself, but the horses with his self-imposed exile. He would have gladly handed them over to Jake if he believed the younger man felt the same about them, but Jake, while a quick study and good with them, didn't love them like Jensen did. It was then that Keene’s letters reached him and Jensen decided that the animals deserved to be cared for by a man like him and that led to an invitation and here there were.

“He’s a feisty one, isn't he?” the young man said, shaking Jensen from his musings. “Many of my colleagues are concerned about their ‘hot-blooded’ nature and have doubts about infusing our lines with their blood.”

Jensen was about to take offense on Shaitan’s behalf when the man went on. “But I think this is exactly the fire that’s been bled out of our Thoroughbreds. I would welcome the challenge to break a horse with a spirit like that.”

Jensen sidled up to the stallion and moved with cautious confidence. “That’s where so many fail with this breed above all others – the idea that they should be broken. You don’t march up to them with the intent to dominate. This is a herd animal, Keene,” Jensen elaborated, “so acting like a predator will gain you no ground.” As Jensen spoke softly, he moved closer and closer to the ruffled stallion. “You don’t hunt them, you seduce them.” He switched to Arabic and murmured apologies softly to Shaitan until he was able to get his hand along the beast’s arched neck. From there, he moved up to the jaw and eventually stroked him along his velvety nose.

“I have had various conversations on the subject, but I have heard just as many opinions,” Keene said. “How do you go about dominating the animal then?”

Turning back to the younger man, Jensen answered, “By being stronger than him. Obviously, it can't be done by mass, but by strength of character and personality. I must be the biggest person in his life and he must respect me above all others. But to earn his respect, I must give him the same due. I must trust in him to respond to my commands and he needs to believe in me to obey them.”

 _And I haven't respected you or loved you like I should have,_ he reminded himself. _I’ve let you and Alya down and don't deserve you any longer. And you aren't the only ones I've wronged like that_.

The other man nodded thoughtfully. “They were right.”

“Who was?”

“The other sheikhs and leaders I met along my journey – the ones who told me to seek you out. They said not only had you bred horses from the legendary Al Khamsa line, but you knew how to speak to them.”

 _Maybe before,_ he ruminated, _but not any longer_.

“I still can’t believe you’re willing to part with such magnificent beasts,” he continued, unaware of his host’s discomfiture.

“I can’t keep them any longer,” Jensen spat out, startling his guest with his outburst. “And manage my people,” he hastily added, hoping that explanation would mollify Keene.

“I can understand your position.” Jensen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I can. I inherited a place from my granddaddy, Transylvania Plantation, and it was almost too much. All the land, the crops and, of course, the slaves. It’s like a small city. But I have the benefit of hiring a manager to run it all for me and that leaves me free to do this. You don't have that luxury. And I can't begin to imagine how many slaves you must have to oversee…”

“They’re my people,” Jensen corrected.

“Of course they are,” Keene agreed amiably enough, but Jensen was sure the man didn't appreciate the distinction.

 _But many are slaves_ , his inner voice corrected him. _You two aren't that different_.

“I know they will be worth every penny, but I have to admit,” the Kentuckian continued, “I am afraid to ask how much you want for the pair.”

Jensen gave Shaitan a light stroke and moved away to stand beside Keene. “They are priceless,” the younger man sucked in his breath sharply, obviously worried, “which is why I am giving them to you,” Jensen finished quickly.

“Sir, you jest,” Keene replied disbelievingly.

“They need to be cared for, revered even, and I cannot do it properly any longer. I believe you are a man who can. They are my legacy,” Jensen finished. “Treat them as such.”

“A man should be so fortunate to leave such a legacy behind,” Keene agreed. “And what a spectacular one you are passing on to me. I am honored, sir.” And the man bowed at the waist to Jensen.

“You and your men are welcome to stay the night. You can leave with them,” he indicated the pair of horses, “tomorrow at your leisure. I will have some of my men accompany you back to Doheh, so that you are not molested on your return trip.”

The man was grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t thank you enough.” And he grabbed Jensen’s hand, pumping it furiously in a vigorous handshake.

“Just send me word, from time to time, on how they’re faring,” Jensen finally said. At least he would know how some of his loved ones were getting along.

“I most certainly will, Sheikh.”

“Jensen,” he offered grudgingly.

The man’s smile grew. “Jensen.”

And it suddenly ached to watch the younger man begin his efforts to woo Shaitan to his side. Jensen spun about and started to leave them to it, unable to remain and watch. He hadn't gotten far when Keene called out, “I hope it isn't offensive to say, but it seems so very appropriate.”

“What’s that?” Jensen asked gruffly, masking his emotions.

“Merry Christmas, Jensen.”

“And to you,” he eventually replied, but the other man had already returned his attention to the black stallion. Jensen had ceased to exist for him. And that was for the best, he told himself.

Exiting the royal stables, Jensen hastily gave instructions to Nasih to see to Richard’s party and their comfort. The taller man agreed, but regarded Jensen with a somber, too-knowing expression. Wanting to leave now that the deed was done, Jensen walked briskly through the courtyard and back inside like he was fleeing the scene of a crime. In his haste, he nearly bowled over his little brother.

“Tell me you didn't,” Jake demanded. Jensen had no need for elaboration. His brother had been aware of his plans for some weeks.

“You were right with what you accused me of. Now I've set matters to right.”

 

_Jared had been gone no more than a day when one of the servants had come to ask him what they should do with Assaf’s belongings. Jensen’s sorrow bled into something hot and vicious at the mention of the man’s name. It had reminded him that there was still one villain left to deal with. Murmuring that they should put whatever the odalik had in a chest and store it wherever there was space, Jensen sent them away. He snatched up the two bottles that had been seized from Alaina’s room and used the secret passage that connected their chambers to finally face her._

_In the dark space, he allowed his anger to blossom. He had not come to any decision about how he should punish the woman for her crimes, but he rejoiced that there was still someone to level his wrath upon. It made his heart pump and his blood sing. When he left the corridor, the first thing he saw was Nasih, faithfully standing guard. If Jensen was of a mind to notice, he would have seen the older man was tired. Days of standing guard had taken their toll on him, what with the dark pouches under his eyes and limp clothing. His second had a hand at his weapon before he recognized Jensen, but stood down when he realized it was his sheikh. Jensen nodded to Nasih, but it was nothing more than a curt snap of his head. The room was a shambles, like a summer storm had whipped through it. Books tossed about, cabinet drawers pulled out, and one side of a wardrobe had been damaged in the tumultuous search for poisons. The tortoiseshell and mother-of-pearl inlays on that side had been knocked loose, scattering shards like shells on a beach. Unthinking, he bent down, set one bottle on the tiled floor and scooped a few of the pieces up, remembering how much he had wanted to hold them once upon a time. He tumbled the bits around in his hand before tucking them into a fold of his robe. He retrieved his bottle and entered Alaina’s receiving room._

_That room had fared no better than the other, although there was scant light to judge the true damage by. The sole bookcase had been ransacked; its tomes and manuscripts yanked out with little regard. The drapes from the veranda were askew and Jensen went over, putting his ‘evidence’ aside, to tie them back so that he could see more readily. When he'd fastened them as best he could, as they had not escaped the fervor of the search and were torn in places, he noticed the nearby, waist-high block was empty. The hood was still there as were its jesses, but the bird was gone._

_With the room washed in the late morning light, the destruction was plain to see. Cushions had been ripped apart, dishes smashed and paintings slashed. Jensen understood on an intellectual level that he should feel some guilt, some remorse, something for all the destruction before him, but it was impossible to muster._

_“’For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind’,” Jensen muttered._

_“Pleased with yourself?” a tired voice remarked._

_Jensen’s gaze scuttled about until it landed on a rather small figure off in the corner. Alaina sat on the hard floor, her back up against a wall and knees drawn tight against her chest. Seeing Jared like that had softened his heart; seeing Alaina like that only made him grin. A very small part of his intellect reminded Jensen that she hadn’t been the one to hurt Jared and his child, but it was a very, very small part and easily suffocated._

_“I am beginning to be,” he smiled._

_Dressed in clothing that was surprisingly simple compared to her normal wardrobe, Alaina raised her head up and Jensen was briefly amazed at the lack of cosmetics. Between that and the plain shirt and baggy trousers she was wearing, Alaina looked…fragile. Jensen shook his head to banish the word from his mind. He didn’t care if she was a broken, china doll. In fact, he was glad of it. She should be broken, like everyone who had come between him and his boy. Jensen was shattered so it was fitting those around him should be, too._

_“Decided to forego your usual accoutrements?” he indicated her bare face._

_Alaina snorted. “What would you have me wear? I have nothing left. Your men were very thorough in removing every powder and oil they could lay their hands on. Did you finally get what you wanted?”_

_“Not even close,” Jensen hissed as he advanced on her, “yet more than I bargained for.”_

_“No,” yelled Jake, who ran out from the bedroom with his shirt unbuttoned and hair in disarray._

_Jensen hadn't anticipated his little brother’s presence, but he realized he had been a fool not to. Where else would he be after Jensen had all but condemned Alaina to death when they last spoke? The boy’s eyes were swollen and tinged pink, the blue as deep as the cerulean roof above the earth. He pushed past Jensen and dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around his mother’s small shoulders._

_“Get away from her,” he spat, while she pat his forearm softly._

_“Jacob,” she soothed._

_“No, Mother, he has no right to judge you,” he told her before offering an angry, defiant face to his brother._

_“Jake,” Jensen warned. He had no real desire to hurt his younger sibling, but he would be damned if he stood there and listened to his rantings. Alaina was no saint._

_“No,” he said, wiping a hand under his nose. “You have no right to judge. And do you know why?”_

_Sucking in his cheeks, Jensen tried to calm himself. Jake took his silence for permission to speak._

_“You don't know any of us. You ran away the first chance you got to your precious Oxford and didn't give a damn about us,” Jake argued, years of what must have been pent-up rage finally boiling to the surface._

_“My education benefits everyone,” Jensen retorted. “That was a sacrifice I made for the good of our people.”_

_Jake laughed, but it wasn't a humorous sound. “You can lie to yourself, brother, but don't you dare try to pass it off as truth to me. You did what you wanted to, like you always do.”_

_“I have given up everything for this place,” Jensen made a sweeping gesture, “so don't you dare to presume to judge me.”_

_Jake, however, was not cowed in the face of his brother’s anger. “What have you ever given up for us? When do you put our people above all others? Above yourself? Before you left, you buried yourself in your horses and barely spared a glance for your people. And when you first came back, it was the same way.” The young man stood up in front of his mother. “And when it wasn't the horses, then it was Jared. You aren't worthy of those beasts or him, because a good man would not accuse someone unfairly – without evidence. A good man – ”_

_“You want evidence?” Jensen raged. He hadn't planned on having Jake anywhere near Alaina when he confronted her, the old habit of playing nice in his presence still an ingrained habit. But hearing his little brother rail at him and call him unworthy was too much. “Let me give you evidence.” And he whipped about to collect the two bottles left by the terrace. Holding one in each hand, he stalked towards them. Jake, for the first time since he had begun his tirade, seemed to shrink back. While Jensen had had no clear plan on how to punish Alaina before he had entered her apartments, he had one now._

_“Where shall I begin, Alaina?” Jensen asked with an air of solicitousness that was as false as his smile. He raised both bottles and looked from one to the other. “Let’s start with this one,” he decided, and lifted the bottle stuffed full of the lotus flowers. “Shall you explain to my dear brother what this is, or shall I?”_

_Alaina paled and swallowed. “That is a special liquor, Jensen. Nothing more, nothing less.”_

_“And those flowers inside? Ones that had come from your garden?”_

_“What garden?” Alaina mocked, although it was a shadow of her former haughtiness. “Your men have stomped it all underfoot.” She reached an arm out to pull Jake closer, but whether it was to shield him or herself, Jensen wasn’t sure._

_“Be grateful that fetid plot was all that they stomped,” he warned. “My understanding is the flowers inside affect the senses, loosen inhibitions and turn a person wanton. Would you say that is about right?”_

_Alaina licked her lips. “And your point is? Anyone who partakes of spirits is already in search of some escape. I simply enhanced that liquor for very special occasions.” Her voice grew steadier as she spun her tale. “No different than puffing on a huqqa in the end.”_

_Jensen appeared to be contemplating her words thoughtfully. “I see. So in actual fact, this is only a more potent liquor. Fair enough, even though we both know you only used this on those who were unsuspecting and unaware, like Jared and…my father.” Jensen didn't know that for certain, but the way she recoiled was all the proof he needed. Even Jake noticed. “I suppose having him loose and pliant was the only way you could have him, after my mother.”_

_“Jensen,” Jake hissed. When Jensen flicked his eyes towards him, he saw his little brother looked more pained than angry and he had a moment’s hesitation. The heft of the other bottle soon outweighed that brief flash of guilt._

_“Then what about this one, Aliana?” he asked, holding up the drink that had prevented any of the concubines from conceiving. “What pretty story do you have to tell about this one?”_

_Alaina pressed her lips together and tugged Jake closer still._

_“Mother?” Jake wondered, kneeling down again beside her._

_“Do you want the honors or shall I do it alone?” Jensen pressed her._

_“You have to understand, Jacob,” she started, stroking his cheek. “I only ever wanted the best for you and I would do whatever it took to lay the world at your feet.” Her green eyes were impossibly bright and Jensen was shocked to see tears._

_“I don't understand, Mother,” Jake said, sounding very young and insecure._

_“I-I made sure the other concubines couldn't have children,” she confessed._

_“Permanently?” Jake gasped._

_Alaina placed both her hands on her son’s face. “No, nothing like that. I just gave them a drink before they were to spend a night with the sheikh that would keep them from getting pregnant. There are no lasting effects,” she assured him._

_“How thoughtful of you,” Jensen sneered._

_“I could have given them abortifacients,” she snapped, flashing her true colors in that second’s weakness. “I did them no harm and killed no one.”_

_Jensen had a ready retort, but there was no need._

_“How could you?” Jake breathed, pulling back in slow horror. “You did that to their bodies without their knowledge. What-what are you that you could do that?”_

_“Jacob, listen to me –”_

_“Yes, tell him how it was all for him and had nothing to do with you securing the position of Valide. Go on,” Jensen smiled. “Tell him.”_

_Eyes darting from Jensen to his mother, Jake prodded, “Tell me the truth, Mother.”_

_Alaina shrank in size before the harsh truth as she was revealed to her son and remained silent._

_“So it's true,” his younger brother finally said. It wasn't a question._

_The woman sucked her upper lip in to gnaw at it nervously. “Yes.” She held Jake’s gaze hopefully. When he didn't return it, she lowered her eyes._

_Jake clambered to his feet and stared at her in disbelief. That pang was back in Jensen’s heart and he reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot for a fifteen-year-old to take in.”_

_Jake flicked his solemn eyes up to Jensen’s. “I’m sixteen now. But then,” he continued, subdued, “you would have to have been paying attention to someone other than yourself to know that.” And with that, he squirmed out from under Jensen’s hand and walked off into the bedrooms beyond, leaving them both behind. For several minutes, neither said a word._

_“Are you satisfied now?” Alaina finally broke their silent stalemate. “Is this punishment enough for you?”_

_Jensen looked down at her and replied, “I think it was William Thakeray who wrote for Vanity Fair that a mother was God in the eyes of the child. Jake now sees you for the false idol you are. I can’t think of a more fitting punishment. You will never,” he continued in an unmistakably deadly tone, “ever give someone something without their knowledge again. If you do, it will be your last act on this earth.”_

_He stepped over to the terrace and proceeded to hurl the bottles so that they smashed on the walkway of Alaina’s ruined garden below. When he turned, he lingered at the empty block._

_“Flown the coop?” he wondered, fingering the discarded, leather jesses._

_Alaina blinked back tears as she answered. “When they came,” she jerked her head towards the door which Nasih guarded, “I thought it would be safer to set him free. I hoped he might come back to me, but he didn't.” And Jensen thought there was genuine remorse there over the loss of the bird._

_As he walked away, she added, “I'm sure you know the feeling. If you don’t, you will soon enough.”_

_Clenching his fists, he kept walking._

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Jake insisted. “I was…angry then. I have had time to consider a few things.”

“You had every right to be, Jacob,” Jensen agreed as he tried to step around him, but the younger man dogged him.

“And you think this is some kind of atonement? You send away the man you love,” Jake kept apace, “and now you give away the prizes of your stable?”

Jensen lengthened his stride. “You were right. I was selfish and didn't deserve those treasures.” _I didn't deserve Jared or my child_. “It is my duty to give everything of myself to my people, and I am going to. Please let me do this as I see fit.”

Jake grabbed Jensen’s arm and yanked him to a stop. “Not like this, brother. This life shouldn't be a prison for you. It doesn't have to be. Let me help.”

Jensen gave his brother a rare smile and stroked his cheek briefly. “You’re too forgiving, little brother.”

“Everyone deserves forgiveness,” Jake told him with certainty.

Jensen’s smile faded as he walked away. “Not everyone,” he muttered.

By the time he had reached his chambers, Jensen was weary to the bone and his soul. He stripped down dispassionately to just his sirwal and found himself, almost without conscious thought, eventually seated at his desk. He poured himself “two fingers”, as that Yank he had met at Oxford had called it, of whiskey into his dirty tumbler. Jensen chuckled to himself as he raised the glass to his lips. He supposed “Yank” might be the wrong term after what Keene had said. And thinking of Keene, who was probably fondling Shaitan or Alya, plunged him into darker thoughts. He swallowed down the entire contents and grimaced at the liquor’s bite. That didn't stop him from pouring himself another generous portion. He decided to savor the second glass and slouched back in the creaky chair.

Rolling the crystal on its edge, back and forth, Jensen couldn't help but mull over his little brother’s – no, Jacob’s – words. It was a pleasant thought that everyone deserved forgiveness. Most of the religions he had studied usually promised absolution after one form or another of atonement. But he was not that lofty a man. There were some things he would never forgive and there was no changing that. He might have cherished Assaf as a long-time friend, could even come to understand how that loyalty had been melted and reshaped into something no longer sane, but he would never, ever forgive him for what he had tried to do. And then there was himself. He took another sip of the aged bourbon.

He had his righteous anger when it came to Jared and what the boy had done to him. He wouldn't deny that when the lad had been delivered to his feet, he had reveled in the chance to take his punishment out of Jared’s very hide. But it had never been his intention for everything to turn so cruel. He had wanted to humiliate and shame, but not maim or torture him the way his boy had been. And there was no denying that all of the blame fell on Jensen’s shoulders, despite the fact that it wasn't his hand that had met all that out. He leaned down and opened up the bottom drawer, pulling out the handful of items that he looked at each night, and set them back out on the desk. He eyed them over before finally selecting the framed daguerreotype.

He flipped it open and stared at it for a long time. It wasn't as if he hadn't memorized the picture. He was intimately familiar with the despondent curve of his boy’s neck, the defeated slope to his shoulders. Holding that image was a solid reminder of his shame. He was the one who had reduced Jared so; moreover, he was the one who had _wanted_ to. Tracing the curve of the lad's rounded backside, Jensen knew he would never be able to forgive himself. He snapped it closed and placed it gently beside the gold watch. Jensen snorted as he realized that Jared had carried around his own proof-positive of a heinous crime. He had kept it close to his heart so as to never forget. Jared surely must have felt deep remorse to do that to himself. Jensen’s gaze slid to the journal. Maybe he had written about his guilt within its pages. Maybe Jensen would finally understand how Jared could have been so cruel to him if he looked within.

The Isha'a prayer interrupted his thoughts, signaling the end of the day. It was Christmas Eve, Jensen realized. He had another drink of whiskey and then picked up the battered journal.

“Let’s see what kind of ghosts are waiting for me,” he mumbled and thumbed it open to a random entry.

 

**_From the Journal of Jared Tristan Padalecki_ **

_“He nearly caught me out while I was writing the very things he mocked me over. Too caught up in trying to capture how handsome he appeared in the afternoon light, I didn't realize he had snuck up close enough to ambush me. I felt like a right fool when he said those mocking words. It had been clear to me that he viewed me only as the annoying, baby brother of his roommate to be tolerated and perhaps coddled. But then…then he ran his hands along my body and while I couldn't help but laugh at the touches, they did something strange to me. Something I had never felt before._

_I thought it had been an accident on his part, but then he rolled over on top of my back! Oh, the glorious weight of him pressed up against me! Sometimes, when I'm backed up against things, or in too small a place, those...uncomfortable feelings return. I tell myself repeatedly that it is a childish fear and remind myself that I can breathe and see and…But when he stretched out over me and held me down, I felt safe. It makes no logical sense. He’s not a small man by any means (not with that chest and those arms and legs) and, by rights, I should have panicked. However, all it did was soothe something deep inside me._

_And then he breathed right into my ear and I swear to the Lord that my toes curled! And when that hard length of his manhood rubbed against my backside, it was only years of wearing that chastity belt which kept me from erupting all over myself. I never knew that someone could make me ache like that. I confess to a secret theory, though._

_I think he is the only man that could make me feel that way.”_

 

Jensen smiled at the honest and innocent way his boy described that day by the brook. It was forever burned in his mind, too. Yet, at the same time, it was painful to be reminded of what Jared had had to live through. The damned belt his father had made him wear for years. And now that knowledge was tainted even further since George had done it to hide Jared’s status from himself. He had let his youngest think he was some sort of degenerate, who “self-abused” himself to the point of physical illness, rather than tell him the truth about his own person. And the wardrobe and its resulting damage. Jensen didn't know what he might do if he was ever face-to-face with the Padalecki patriarch again, but he was certain it would end in spilled blood.

 _You did much the same to Jared_ , his inner conscience reminded him. And he couldn't deny it.  

Jensen flipped through the well-loved book, smiling at some of his boy’s musings and outright laughing at others. He marveled at how Jared, when not talking about himself, could capture moments and paint them as clearly as any daguerreotype might hope to. And some of the sketches, obviously done quickly, showed real talent. He paused from his reading and glanced briefly at the open drawer, knowing that the sketch his boy had gifted him with was nestled safely inside. His skill was without question.

Talking a deep breath, he muttered, “I've gone this far, I might as well go the whole hog.” And he sought out the fateful date in June where everything turned to ashes.

                                               

**_From the Journal of Jared Tristan Padalecki_ **

_“I-I don’t know how to begin. This is the worst thing I have ever had to confess to and there is no absolution for my sins…”_

_ _

Jared was beside himself with nerves. There was no way he had mistaken the innumerable, romantic overtures that Jensen had made to be anything but the most sincere of sentiments. And the way he had been tonight firmly ensconced the idea that the man was on the verge of proposing matrimony. Specifically, Jared was sure Jensen was going to propose at tomorrow night’s “family” meal. Jared sighed heavily over that, because he knew his father would use the opportunity to belittle Jensen as much as possible. He’d watched two of the three most important men in his life spend all of last year crossing verbal swords and knew that this summer would be no different. In a morbid way, Jared was sure that his father was actually looking forward to the war of words. He just couldn’t understand why his father, only the first of his family to be born on these shores, had so little tolerance and understanding for those that had not.

Jared wrung his hands as he sat in his room, desperately wracking his mind for a way to avoid what was sure to be an explosive spectacle. And as much as he loved Jensen, and he did, the man seemed as driven as his father at times. Unwilling to ever bend to the older man, Jensen gave as good as he got. Jared huffed mirthlessly. Of course he should be attracted to a man as sure of himself, as unbending as his father. He wondered if that was always the way when it came to love? They shared more than a few of the same qualities, but while his father demanded obedience and offered little in return, Jensen repaid it with affection and praise. Jared never regretted giving himself over to Jensen because he trusted him. And in his surrender to the older man, he found freedom to be himself. Jensen saw all of him and loved him still. Freedom was never something his father granted. He only wanted to carve and mold to his exacting satisfaction and he didn’t care what he had to break to make Jared fit.

Did he want to spend the rest of his life with Jensen? The answer to that was a resounding “yes”. He wouldn’t deny a certain apprehension to leaving everything he knew behind, for certainly they would return to Qatar, since Jensen had an obligation to his people to be their eventual leader. And he would be a liar if the concept of being part of a harem didn’t frighten him to bits, but he had faith that it would be somehow different for him. The poignant way Jensen spoke about his mother assuaged the worst of the doubts that Jared carried. He wouldn’t make Jared live like that, knowing how it had destroyed his mother’s spirit. He had no idea how it would work between him, but he told himself that he would study whatever he could so as to understand all the proper customs of the people and not embarrass Jensen. He was actually excited about the prospect of finally mastering Arabic. His eyes slid over to the pencil case on his desk and he smiled.

The lettering was so beautiful, it was like art itself. And Jared had harbored a sneaking suspicion that what was written there was a declaration of love. How strange, he mused, that he and Jensen could be on the precipice of holy matrimony and had yet to exchange those words between them. Of course, not many marriages among the ton were love matches. Far from it, in point of fact. But Jared was sure that when they finally did exchange the words, it would be unforgettable. And that was why, he decided, the best course of action for all parties involved, was for him to speak directly to his father before the public declaration. If he could explain and reason with the man, Jared hoped they could arrive at some type of understanding.

 _He might forbid it_ , his mind warned him.

And that was true. Jared had not yet reached his majority and with the Marriage Act in place, his father’s refusal could prove a stumbling block. He had heard, however, that there were ways to circumvent it. He and Jensen could slip away and find a parish where no one knew of them. There, they could publish the banns and since no one would care to object, they could wed in secret. Or, the more obvious, the two of them could simply flee to Qatar. Since he was quite certain that was their final destination, it would probably be simplest to go there right off.

Qatar.

It was so far away, he lamented to himself. He would miss England. No, he corrected himself, he would miss James. But people grew up and life took them where it would. He had let James go off with his blessing to lead the life he needed to, and he knew James would grant him the same. They could write and, perhaps, visit occasionally, because being the sons of one of the E.I.C. directors carried more than a few dividends. Why shouldn’t they take advantage of that? Having shored himself up with that, Jared clapped his hands together and stood up.

It was late in the household. Most of the servants had already retired, so when Jared stepped out into the hallway, he didn’t see a soul. As he neared his parent’s bedroom, he had to admit to a certain amount of trepidation. This would be the first time he came into direct confrontation with his father and he would be a liar if he didn’t admit to sweaty palms and heart palpitations. But he had never had a more worthy cause to stand up for than his own happiness. He could do this.

He found himself creeping the last few feet down the hall towards their door. He was both heartened and dismayed to see a line of light spill out before it. The lamps were still burning within, a sure sign that one or both of them were still awake. More often than not, it was his father, who would still be pouring over his ledgers, oblivious to his mother’s probable discomfort with the light. His steps slowed and he found himself holding his breath as he neared, because he could hear them talking. As though the sharp edge of the gaslight on the carpeting before him would burn, Jared stopped just short of it and pressed himself against the paneled hallway and, for the first time in his life, eavesdropped on his parents.

“I won’t stand for it, Elizabeth,” his father blustered, irritation plain in his voice.

“George,” his mother began, always the peacemaker.

“I’m not a fool. Only a blind man would miss the looks he gives our son,” George continued on, ignoring his wife. “No good will come of it.”

He heard his mother’s soft sigh. “It is probably nothing more than a passing fancy,” she assured her husband. “Jared is a handsome lad and I should think he will garner more than a few looks as he enters manhood. He takes after his father, after all.”

Jared winced, because he did mirror his sire albeit a more slender version, but her needing to placate the man pained him more.

“Don’t try to mollycoddle me, Lizzie,” George interrupted her and Jared smiled in spite of his predicament. He had never heard his father call his mother by any diminutive and hearing her name like that warmed something inside of him. It made his father more approachable.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied and there was a long pause.

“I know you may not agree,” his father continued seriously, “but I will not have that foreigner,” and he spat the word like it was poison, “get his hands on our boy and ruin everything I have sacrificed for.”

“But, George –” his mother began.

“No, no and no again. I gave up _everything_ for this life,” George continued on passionately. “I gave up my religion…practically had to spit on my own father so that your family would accept me and find me not wanting. And I would do it again for you,” he muttered.

“As you would for this life, too,” Elizabeth whispered knowingly.

“Why not?” he rounded on her. “Why is it such a crime…such a lack of character to want more from this life? Why wouldn’t any man strive for more?”

“I am not disagreeing with you, George. Merely pointing out that you wanted things besides me. My parents are long dead. There is nothing stopping you from making amends with your father except the disapproval of the ton.”

Jared heard his father snort. “Would you be willing to sacrifice all this, hmm? I thought not,” he added when Jared’s mother remained quiet. “You cannot have it both ways. If we were to take a stand, as it were, we would be caught on all sides and no one would have our backs. It has always been all or nothing.”

“You may not have much say in what is between those boys. I suspect that Jensen is preparing to propose,” she noted sagely, silencing Jared’s father on the spot.

Jared’s heart picked up. Well, he would have everything Jensen would be willing to offer. With the words, “All or nothing,” still ringing in his ears, he reached out a hand, meaning to rap on the door. His father’s next words froze him to the spot.

“If he so much as utters a word remotely close to a proposal,” George answered, his voice full of angry venom, “I shall demand satisfaction.”

Elizabeth gasped and Jared sank back into the shadows.

“You wouldn't,” she exhaled and Jared could picture her with her hand clasped to her breast.

“In a heartbeat,” George replied. “And it would be à l'outrance. A mere wounding would not be enough.”

“But nowadays, the crown doesn't look too favorably upon duels. You could end up brought before the officials with a charge of murder,” she tried to reason with him.

But George was undaunted. “If Lord Cardigan can escape punishment using a hair-trigger pistol, I should be in the clear. I know others would be more than sympathetic to my situation not unlike they were to Henry Hawkey when that scoundrel, James Seton, made untoward advances on his wife. Have no fear. I would be in the clear.”

Jared sank back against the wall, his heart in his throat. A duel? His father would actually draw a pistol on Jensen? Well, no matter. He would sneak into Jensen’s room and tell him not to say a word. They would run away. It was that simple. And as if his mother was a mind reader, she voiced nearly the same plan.

“But what if he were to refuse? He might abscond with Jared back to his native home and we’d never see our boy again.”

“There is nowhere that heathen could take our son that I would not be able to track them down. You forget…I _am_ the John Company and we control the seas. There is nowhere in the world for them to run where I wouldn't find them and have my satisfaction,” George said too calmly.

Jared wasn’t sure what his mother said to that or if she said anything at all. He somehow stumbled back to his room and possessed enough presence of mind to shut his door softly, so no one would be the wiser for what he had done. He wasn't able to make it back to his bed, but collapsed onto his knees beside it, heart hammering and unable to catch his breath like he had spent an afternoon locked in a wardrobe. It was all too much.

His father.

His father would kill Jensen.

One hand braced on the floor, he desperately tried to keep himself from being ill at the mere thought of it. And yet, he couldn't stop his overactive imagination from playing the scene out in front of him. Jensen happily proposing only to have George rise to his feet and throw his gloves at him, demanding pistols at dawn. And Jared knew which pistols, too. His father had a special set in his study, given to him by another director of the Honorable East India Company as a gift one season to acknowledge his father’s fierce, business acumen in the face of their competitors. His father was a decent shot as well. But in Jared’s mind, he knew Jensen would be the better one. In the end, it would make no difference, for Jared would lose Jensen either way.

If Jensen, who Jared knew would be the better shot, killed Jared’s father, he would be tried and found guilty of murder. Those men his father had called out only survived outside of prison because of their standing in society. Jensen would be on his own, a foreigner with both Irish and “dark” blood in him. He wouldn't stand a chance. And the worse possibility would be Jensen missing his father intentionally, unwilling to kill the man for Jared's sake. Jared knew his father would have no such hesitations and Jensen would end up a bloody heap on the front lawn.

That was all it took. Jared sprang to his feet and made it to the basin on his dresser in time to lose what he managed to eat during dinner. By the time he was done, his sides ached and his mouth burned with bile. Reaching into the pitcher, he wet his hands and patted down his face before sitting on the bed. Either way he would lose Jensen. His father’s threats to hunt them down meant that elopement was also out of the question. His father had access to the most powerful fleet in the world and there truly was no place they could run to where they could escape his reach. Even if Jared fled, the outcome would be the same. He would have to tell Jensen their marriage was an impossibility.

But as his heart rate slowed and his rapid breaths came more easily, another equally sinister thought took root. Jensen was _too_ much like his father. Jensen would never back down from a challenge and accept defeat. Jared had the sinking suspicion that he might not even back down if Jared begged on bended knee, which he would. The thought stopped him cold, when he realized the lengths he would go to for Jensen’s life. He would gladly debase himself in front of whoever demanded it for that man.

To save his life, Jared would do anything.

Anything.

But would he give Jensen up to save him?

He slowly lowered himself down on top of the coverlet, still fully dressed, as the weight of that knowledge settled within him. Because he suddenly knew of one way to guarantee that Jensen would never, ever want him in his life, let alone propose. All he had to do was betray the only trust the man had ever placed in him in the most grievous of fashions. Jared rolled over, buried his face in his pillow and wept until dawn.

By late morning, he managed to rouse himself and get dressed. However, he did everything in his power to remain as out-of-sight as possible, going so far as to chance a climb on the rooftop in daylight for a few hours. His mind, after the dreadful way he had passed the night, was mostly blank. He found that if he dwelled too long on his plan, he began to grow nauseous again and the sounds of his retching would surely draw the attention of the servants, if no one else, and he would not be able to explain the onset of such an illness. So he hid like a coward. His only consolation was that Jensen would be safe. He honestly would do anything to save him.

He repeated that over and over in his head as he finally readied himself for dinner. He dressed as though for his own execution and struggled with his cravat as everything seemed to choke him. When he arrived downstairs, the rest of his family was already waiting and he gave himself the luxury of admiring Jensen one, last time.

Dressed in an immaculate, charcoal grey suit Jared had never seen before, he had topped the outfit off with an emerald-green cravat. The jeweled hue of the silk emphasized his eyes and they were practically dancing when they lit upon Jared. Jared smiled. He couldn’t help it, but he knew it was a shade of his normal one and Jensen seemed to sense something amiss, because his smile faltered as well. To cover his slip, Jared hurriedly took his seat and the meal was served.

It was a wretched affair, with his father never missing an opportunity to get a dig in at Jensen’s expense. James may have shared an amusing anecdote or two to lighten things between them, but Jared hardly noticed. He was too busy struggling to control his stomach as each course sickened him further, everything smelling like rotted meat, and he barely touched his food. It was his only recourse to prevent a scene that would disrupt the meal and only prolong the inevitable. The only thing Jared was actually cognizant of was the furtive looks that Jensen shot his way from time to time. However, he didn’t afford himself the pleasure of truly meeting his eye again. When the servants finally cleared away the desert plates and brought out the wine, it all came to a head.

Jensen made a show of clearing his throat and Jared saw how his father’s jaw clenched. “If I could have your attention, please,” Jensen began and Jared noticed how his hand had dropped to his suit jacket pocket.

It was the moment of truth.

Jared took a deep breath and began to laugh. One by one, every eye turned to him. When he stopped his maniacal cackle, he started to spout off the most ridiculous stuff like how could Jensen possibly think that Jared would deign to live in a tent like Thomas Taplin Cooke used to house his circuses and other, incendiary remarks, all slurs against Jensen’s homeland. And with each barb, he saw how Jensen slowly shrank down as though the life were being drained from him. But with each direct hit, he also noted his father relax as well. He would be damned for it, but Jared was accomplishing what he had intended. And then came the _coup de grâce_.

“You would make me a whore, just like your mother?” Jared panted, shame flushing his cheeks. “An Irish, three-penny upright who despised her life…” he paused, staring off for a moment to gather his courage before taking a steadying breath and continuing, “who despised you so much that taking her own life was preferable.”

Elizabeth gasped at her son’s outburst, but there was no mistaking the pleased grin on George’s face.

“Jared,” James snapped, attempting to rise, but the senior Padalecki slammed a hand over his oldest son’s arm, locking him in place.

“I suppose I should be outraged, but the whole thing is too bloody farcical to even give it a second thought,” Jared finished before rising and leaving the dining table. The shocked silence that remained in his wake was deafening. He all but ran up to his room, finally losing the battle to hold back his tears. He had done it and broken both their hearts in the process.

Jared didn’t know how long he laid on his bed before his brother barged in. “What the bloody hell, Jared? Or should I call you ‘George Junior’?”

Jared rolled over and James was able to really see his little brother. Some of his rage seeped out. “This isn’t you,” he said with a trifle more calm, slowly approaching his bed.

“Of course it is,” Jared mumbled and turned back, offering his older sibling his shoulder. He bit his lip even as the bed sank near his waist when James sat down beside him.

“No,” James said with certainty, “it’s not.” He tugged at Jared’s shoulder and while Jared might be strong enough to lose the man he loved, he was weak enough to need some comforting. He rolled back around and as soon as he met his brother’s concerned face, he poured his heart out. He explained how Jensen was going to marry him, and the dreadful reception George had planned. James’ face shifted from shock to anger by the time Jared finished his tale of woe.

“God, I knew he was a right bastard,” James pronounced, “but to go that far? And you, you little fool,” he continued, but without the vitriol, “what a harebrained scheme of yours.”

“I needed for him to hate me,” Jared declared between sniffles.

“You’ve succeeded admirably, little brother. I’m fairly certain I heard the distinct sounds of carnage coming from his room as I came up here after you,” his brother admitted and Jared’s tears increased. “But I don’t think all is lost.” Shaking his head and sighing, James continued, “If he had asked, would you have gone with him back to his home?”

“Yes,” Jared whispered.

James nodded his head. “Then do it.”

“But father –”

“Can do nothing once you’re back there with him. Jared, he lives in something akin to a castle, complete with his own army. There is no way father could hurt either of you, so it’s simply a matter of getting the two of you out there. Perhaps Jensen would need to leave first as some sort of a ruse to fool Father and then we plan a way to smuggle you out after.” Jared had started to sit up as James spelled out his plan, hopeful for the first time that day.

“Do you think?”

“It won’t be easy, but I think we can accomplish it,” James agreed.

Jared slashed at his eyes and made to get up, but James caught his shoulders and held him in place. “Not so fast, little brother. Just where do you think you’re going?”

“To tell Jensen! Now that we’ve figured a way out of this disaster, I can’t let him go on thinking I meant that horrible mess I spewed out.” He clasped his hands on top of his brother’s and tried to remove them to no avail.

“Not tonight, little man. In this I know him better than you and I’ve only seen him close to a rager like this at Oxford. For both your sakes,” he moved one hand to pat Jared’s teary cheek, “let him alone for the night. At first light, I’ll risk my neck by going in first and explaining everything. I might need to wave a white flag ahead of me, but I’ll make him understand. When I’ve finished, I’ll come collect you and then you both can kiss and make up. Once I’ve left, of course. I don’t need to see that,” he chuckled and ruffled Jared’s hair.

“Thank you,” Jared exclaimed and hugged him tight. Once his brother had extricated himself from the embrace, he smiled again.

“Get some sleep and I’ll call for you early tomorrow.”

Jared could only nod. When James closed the door behind him, Jared was sure he wouldn’t sleep a wink, but his exhaustion surprised him and he was asleep within minutes, still fully dressed.

He woke before the cock crowed, wrinkling his nose at his own smell even as the events from the previous night came rushing back. To keep himself from racing down to Jensen’s room, he bathed and put on clean clothes. Then he sat on his bed, his eyes trained on the door to his room. He twisted his hands in his lap as he waited for James to come for him like he promised. And he waited.

And waited.

Finally, he could wait no more. It was taking too long and Jared was afraid that perhaps Jensen had taken his frustrations out on James, who deserved none of it. So he crept out of his room and went down to where Jensen was staying. As he approached, his nerves calmed a little at the quiet. That had to be a good sign if there were no raised voices, he told himself. What he found when he entered, however, was the last thing he expected.

“He’s gone, Jared,” James told him.

“Gone? Gone where?” he demanded frantically, spinning around the empty guest room uncomprehendingly. The wardrobe doors were open, but nothing was inside any longer. There were no signs of Jensen or his belongings.

“Early this morning, he received word of his father’s death and he was packed and gone before I even had a chance to speak with him,” James explained. “I’m so sorry, little brother.”

Jared stood there, slack-jawed. “But-but, he doesn’t know.” Jared lunged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his brother’s shirt. “He doesn’t know!” He was certain his heart was beating right out of his chest and he couldn’t breathe properly. Was this what dying felt like?

James tried to pull him into a hug, but Jared twisted away. “We have to go after him. Right now!”

“Jared,” James tried again, partially succeeding as he yanked Jared close, “there’s no way Father would let either of us leave right now. And,” he paused, “there’s already a ship waiting for him when he reaches London. Even if we could go this instant, there is no way we could overtake him in time.”

“No,” Jared mumbled, collapsing against his brother’s chest. “He doesn’t know,” he whispered harshly. “He left and he doesn’t know.”

James hugged him tighter. “I am so, so sorry.”

The rest of the morning passed in a daze. A late family breakfast was unavoidable and while Jared only picked at his food, his father was downright jovial.

“Jared, my boy,” he said and Jared couldn’t recall a time his father had ever called him that, “I have had my doubts about you over the years. Too often you’ve been a bit of a milksop,” and both his mother and brother gasped at that, but George blustered on. “Somehow, though, you’ve managed to man up and I couldn’t be prouder.”

Jared just stared at him, unable to speak. George didn’t even notice.

“That’s why I’ve decided that you will make an excellent addition to the E.I.C. As soon as you’ve finished this last year with your tutors, I’ll get you set up at the college in Hertford Heath next autumn. And as token of my affection and love, I want you to have this.”

He pulled out his gold pocket watch and placed it beside Jared.

“Go on, my boy, you’ve more than earned it,” he beamed.

_ _

**_From Jared Tristan Padalecki’s Journal_ **

_“…and I had no choice but to accept my fate. After all, my father was right. I deserved it.”_

 

Jensen closed the book and set it on his desk with more reverence than he had ever accorded it before. With it spelled out before him, Jared’s behavior finally made some semblance of sense. And he suddenly recalled their heated exchange after Jared had woken up from his illness.

 _“You will never understand the position I was in, knowing that your life was in jeopardy. And for that I would do_ anything _, say_ anything _if it meant that you would live. Even if it cost me you. It did cost me you. And if tasked with it again, I would do the same without hesitation.”_

_“I do, though,” Jared had whispered and there was that choked amusement again. “I know your meaning exactly and I wish to God I didn't.”_

Jared knew because he had made that sacrifice first.

Jensen lowered his head and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A. Keene Richards was a real person. From Kentucky, he travelled around the Middle East from 1851-1853 doing exactly what is portrayed in this chapter.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bonus chapter. The overall chapter count has once again crept up by one, but this "bonus" keeps the finish line the same.
> 
> "But what about the regular update on Sunday/Monday?" you ask.  
> "It will still post, but probably very late on Monday or early Tuesday," I reply.  
> "Oh, so it might be late?" you mourn.  
> "Yes, a little, because I just gave you 15,000 words today as a surprise," I explain.  
> "Oh, okay," you answer happily.

_ _

Five days.

Jensen stayed barricaded up in his chambers for five days. The only contact he had with anyone was the brave servant who tried to bring him food once a day. That man’s routine was the same. He carried in a tray of food every morning and returned each evening to remove the mostly untouched dishes. Jensen heard him walk about, the man making no effort to hide his movements, but he remained in his bedroom with his memories and his bourbon. He only took care of his most basic needs and slept when the pain in his heart was too great.

On the sixth day, unbeknownst to him, Jake had had enough of his brother’s solitary confinement.

Jensen was half-reclining on a divan, balancing a mostly empty glass of whiskey on his stomach. The bottle he was currently devouring was on the floor within easy reach. The drapes were pulled shut, keeping the room blanketed in cool darkness. Jensen didn't need any light to see the ghosts of his past. They hovered beside him wherever he went, reminding him of all that he had lost. When Jared, dressed as he had been when they'd gone fishing, perched on the end of his bed and smiled his dimpled smile, Jensen raised his glass in a salute and knocked back the strong liquor. He was contemplating asking that version of his boy a question when the chamber was shocked into sunlight and Jared’s ghost was lost in the glare until Jensen couldn't make him out any longer.

Rushing to throw a hand over his eyes, Jensen dropped the glass, which shattered against the smooth marble. He hissed and groaned, not understanding how everything had gotten so bright. As he was about to roll off the couch onto the floor, a pair of hands stopped him.

“Easy there. Can't have you slicing yourself to ribbons, now can we?”

Jensen tried to shrug his way out of the grip, but he couldn’t budge the sure hands. Head lolling to the side, he squinted at the figure kneeling beside him. With the sun behind whoever it was, their hair was lit up like a golden halo.

“Jared?” he slurred.

“No,” the body replied in a tone that Jensen blearily thought might have been sad. “But we are most certainly going to talk about that in due course.”

Without further ado, the person helped Jensen lurch to his feet, only stumbling a little under his weight. “How you can take such poor care of yourself and still be so blasted big is beyond me.”

Jensen was carefully maneuvered around the broken glass and he tried his best to help whoever had come to take him to the cabinet where the bourbon was. That, he decided, was a very good plan. But when he was marched past the goal, he squawked indignantly.

“No, no more for you. I have something else in mind.”

Jensen was led inside his bathing chamber. The person who brought him there lowered him down onto a seat and carefully leaned him back against the wall. The polished tiles soothed his heated skin and he sighed happily.

“Now don't you move,” the helpful voice told him and Jensen nodded. Or thought he did. His chin did end up coming to rest on his chest, so he must have.

Somewhere far away he heard that voice talking to someone else. He thought he caught parts of the conversation with snatches like “clean sheets” and “fresh air”, but he couldn't be bothered to follow along. He sunk lower, slipping off the seat until he was nearly stretched out on the floor and decided that was a good place to rest even if it wasn't soft. He was dozing when the voice came back.

“I leave you alone for a few minutes,” it bemoaned.

Jensen had no idea if it actually had been a few minutes. It seemed longer. He was about to mention it, when those hands clamped onto his wrists and pulled hard, yanking Jensen back up onto his unsteady feet.

“Whoa,” Jensen gulped as he was pushed and prodded along until he was perched on a rigid bench of some sort, but it was extremely narrow and hard. He didn't know why the owner of the voice was testing his sense of balance right then. As he blearily swung his head around to get his bearings, the indistinct form in front of him began to coalesce into a shape he recognized.

“Jake,” he smiled, forgetting that he had promised himself to start calling the lad by his proper name.

Jake smiled back and seemed pleased to hear the nickname. But as quickly as he smiled, his lips turned down. “I'm sorry about this, Jensen,” he apologized.

Jensen shook his head, trying to clear it. Jake had no reason to be sorry. He hadn't done a thing wrong. It was Jensen who had. “What?” he croaked.

Jake pursed his lips and struck Jensen on the shoulders with the heels of his hands. The narrow bench turned out to be the edge of his bath and Jensen found himself tumbling backwards until his body hit cool water. It was a shock and he scrambled to get his hands underneath him. When he popped his head out of the water, sputtering and spitting all the while, he saw Jake standing at the edge of the bath. His brother’s body was framed perfectly between the “v” of Jensen’s feet, which along with his legs, were pointing straight out of the water. And his little brother was laughing.

Dragging a hand across his eyes to clear away the water, Jensen scowled. The pleasant haze he had wrapped himself up in was fading, washed away by the manner his body was thrumming from the shock of his submersion. “What the bloody hell?” Jensen sputtered.

Jake bent lower and stared Jensen square in the eye. “You and I have much to discuss, big brother. But I need you awake and aware to do it.”

“And this,” Jensen spat, before coughing on bath water that he inadvertently inhaled. “This,” he continued once he’d gotten his breath back, “is your idea of waking me up?” He did his best to glare at his baby brother menacingly.

Jake pulled away and shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. And,” he paused, smirking, “you, dear brother, stink.”

Jensen glowered, but it made little difference. Jake sat down on the floor near the gate, which, Jensen was pleased to note, had been locked behind them. “Are you going to sit there the whole time?” he groused as he slipped around in the bathtub.

“I think it's best someone keep an eye on you so you don't drown,” Jake admitted with a tilt to his head. “And after you bathe and put on clothes that haven't taken on a life of their own and consume something more filling that alcohol,” he paused, sneering at the last word, “we will speak.”

Jensen mumbled under his breath while he fought to remove his sodden shirt and trousers. “The least you could have done was help me undress first.”

“No, I couldn't. It was no jest when I said those things,” and he waggled his fingers at Jensen’s attire, “had come to life. There was no way I was going to touch them more than necessary. And I needed to do something to get your attention.”

Jensen didn't say anything else, but he did have a quick burst of joy when he managed to hit his brother with the sopping, balled up clothing in question and smiled outright at the indignant “ew” that direct hit garnered him.

He rinsed himself as best he could in the cool water before hauling himself out and padding carefully (wet marble was slick) over to the niche in the wall where Jake had already laid out soapy oils and a _kese_ for him to scrub himself. He would be damned if he were to admit it to the little troublemaker, but as he sloughed off the sweat and filth of the last week, he felt marginally improved – more clear-headed, which was both a good and bad thing. After all, he had dedicated so much effort into painless forgetting that remembering was a sharp stab in his side.

He held his tongue when Jake first handed him a peştemal to dry himself, and then a fresh thobe and sirwal. And he maintained his silence when his not-so-little brother – he was nearly as tall as Jensen and when had that happened? – unlocked the bath and led him back through his bed chamber, now bright and smelling of freshly laundered linens, into his smaller receiving chamber. Jake pointed to one set of cushions and Jensen dutifully sat on them, while Jake flopped down onto a pile opposite him. He called out a quick command and two servants entered the room. One carried quite a large tray, while the other brought over a hexagonal, wooden table large enough to accommodate it and placed it between the men. The first servant deposited the lacquered tray before they both bowed and left the room.

Jensen peered through his thick lashes at the spread. There was the ubiquitous tea, but also coffee, its aroma bitter and biting. Heaps of various breads were stacked high, along with yogurt, chicken and a few other morsels. He couldn't help but note most of the food was rather bland, like something one would feed the infirm or sick. He supposed, as he sheepishly grabbed for a piece of flatbread, that he qualified on both those counts.

Unlike his usual habit, Jake only picked at his food. He seemed too preoccupied making sure that Jensen ate and drank something other than bourbon. Jensen, actually warming from the concern in his little brother’s eyes, obediently ate to please him than from any real hunger on his part. But when Jake offered him a fourth piece of bread, Jensen had to decline.

“I don't think I can stomach any more of that,” Jensen told him as he sipped the invigorating coffee. He was growing sharper by the minute.

Jake made as if to argue the point, but shrugged his shoulders and set the plate back down. “I heard the women in the kitchen talk about how bread soaks up the alcohol in the stomach. But that is probably an old wives’ tale. Please have an egg or two,” he insisted. “At least your stomach will have something to work on besides the liquor then.”

And because Jensen loved his little brother, he ate the hard-boiled egg to please him and swallowed back on the nausea when it rolled through him. It was through sheer force of will that Jensen didn't wretch.

Nodding in approval, Jake noticed a near-empty bottle of whiskey on a far table and mumbled, “It's pointless to try to drown in a desert, Jensen. There isn’t enough bourbon in the world for that.”

Having switched from coffee to cool water, Jensen lowered his head. His brother was right; there wasn't enough whiskey in the world because he had tried very hard to do just that.

“I’m sorry,” he offered softly.

“You don't need to apologize to me, brother. I was just worried,” he replied earnestly.

Jensen shook his head. “Not about that. I’m sorry…for not being a better brother to you.”

Jake ducked his head and fiddled with a corner of his shirt. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not,” Jensen sighed and moved the tray aside so only the empty table separated them. “I can’t take back the last fifteen…no, _sixteen_ years,” he corrected himself, still guilty over missing his brother’s birthday. Granted, he had been in the midst of Jared’s health scare, but he had no excuse for not acknowledging it later.

“Being able to turn back time would be a handy trick, wouldn't it?” Jake joked lamely.

“That it would. But I want to be honest with you. You deserve that,” Jensen pressed on and he saw how Jake straightened his posture, clearly interested. “The twelve years between us is a fair amount and I don't think I ever knew how to bridge that gap. You came into the world not long after my mother’s death and I never knew how to reconcile those two events. And your mother…well…” Jensen fell silent.

“You and my mother have never seen eye-to-eye,” Jake finished for him tactfully.

Growing more somber, his alcohol fueled serenity fading with each passing minute, he saw the sadness that had crept into the younger man’s face at the mention of his mother. And it was a good face, Jensen told himself. Already on the precipice of manhood, Jensen feared his harsh encounter with Alaina had tipped the lad over too soon. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

Jake surprised him. “I'm not.”

“But –” Jensen started.

“Don’t apologize,” Jake huffed. He fussed with a button on this thobe and then continued. “I mean, I've had some time to think on it all. Do I wish you had found a gentler way to break the news to me? Yes, I do.” Jensen dropped his gaze. “But I understand why you did it. Bloody hell,” Jake exhaled and Jensen had to laugh in spite of himself that his little brother had picked up on his British colloquialism. Jake smiled ruefully at the laughter. “You're a terrible influence,” he conceded merrily before becoming serious again. “What she did was… _almost_ unforgivable. If she had actually killed anyone’s baby, I don't think I could forgive her that, but I am working towards forgiving her for what crimes she did commit.”

Jensen remained silent. He sympathized with Jake’s position, although someone more scholarly than he might have argued that by preventing life from beginning, the crime was nearly the same. But Jensen was not that kind of man. Alaina had never snuffed out a life the way that Assaf had tried. That difference was plain and simple.

“And,” Jake rambled on, “isn't learning that your parent is human – fallible – all part of growing up?”

“Perhaps,” Jensen finally agreed as Jake had obviously been waiting for a reply, “but I could have handled it with greater tact. I feel like I forced you into growing up too soon.”

Jake smiled kindly. “No one stays a child forever, Jensen.”

At the mention of the word “child”, Jensen found his thoughts flying back to Jared and their child. A child he would never know, a child he would never see grow to adulthood and become a strong person like his little brother before him. The sadness and pain welled up so fast, it momentarily threatened to bury him under its swell. Jake must have seen something of that discomfort on his face, because he shot a hand out to wrap around Jensen’s wrist.

“Whatever that first hurt was between you and Jared can be forgiven,” Jake assured him.

Jensen was embarrassed by the prick at the corners of his eyes. “It already had been,” he croaked.

“To his face?” Jake asked shrewdly.

Jensen licked his lips and grabbed the glass of water. After swallowing several mouthfuls, he found himself longing for that peaceful oblivion the bourbon had granted him. “No,” he admitted. “And it's too late for that now.”

Jake seemed poised to argue, but changed his mind. “And you?” he finally inquired.

Jensen thought he must still be very much under the influence of the spirits he'd imbibed since the question made no sense to him. “And me what?”

The corners of Jake’s mouth turned up. “Have you forgiven yourself yet? Although I suspect I already know the answer to that by the poor way you've treated yourself of late.”

Jensen let out a strangled chuckle. “I am working up to that.”

“And why don't I believe that, brother?”

Jensen wiped at his nose. “Tell me what I've missed in my ‘confinement’?” He decided a change of topic was in order. Asking about their people was the best way he knew of to sidetrack his little brother.

Jake leaned back against the cushions. “Do you really want to hear about how Baz is feuding with Salib again over their shared well?”

“The world doesn't stop for our problems, Jake,” Jensen declared.

“No, it doesn't. But the world’s problems don’t have to be yours, Jensen,” Jake intoned, sounding wise beyond his years.

“What do you mean?” Jensen prodded. He had become surprisingly sober over the course of their discussion.

“Sometimes you act like you are chained to the throne,” he said frankly, before adding quickly, “and you are _good_ at it. Very good.”

“I'm waiting for the ‘but’,” Jensen quipped.

“But,” Jake drawled, “you don't love it.”

And there was no denying that Jensen had always viewed his inevitable duties as a prison sentence. The only time he had ever dreamed of fleeing them was when he’d fallen in love with Jared. He still had the deed to the land in Somerset and the letter from the man he'd hired to oversee the house’s construction stating it was finished tucked away in his desk drawer. But there was no denying that abandoning this land would be shirking his duties.

“No, I don't love it,” he confessed honestly. “I never have.”

Jake nodded solemnly. “But I do.”

Jensen narrowed his gaze on his little brother – a man no longer “little”. “What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying, Jensen, is that you don't have to be trapped in this life. You have choices…we both do.”

Choices.

The word reverberated through Jensen’s very soul.

“I-I wouldn't mind discussing the matter with you further, Jake,” Jensen said softly.

Jake’s smile grew brighter. “I have all the time in the world, Jensen.”

*****

A week later, much to the surprise of the harem and its entourage, Jensen called for them all to be present in the Courtyard of the Concubines after the morning meal. Everyone was in attendance, from the eunuchs to Alaina, although the latter was very subdued. Still, she looked the part of a Kadin, dressed in deep green silks and dripping in gold. Standing not too far from her was Jake. Unlike Jensen, who had always preferred black, his younger brother was done up from head to toe in pure white. The only accents to it were the gold igal and janbiya tucked in his belt. And Jensen didn’t miss the secret glances Alaina kept sending in her son’s direction. They were a mix of sorrow and pride at the resolute way that Jake carried himself.

As Jensen’s gaze roamed over all the gathered people, most done up in their best finery out of respect or, more likely, in an attempt to catch his eye now that Jensen was a “free” man again. Along the periphery, the eunuchs alternated between giving him their attention and watching their charges. Behind Jensen stood the doctor and Nasih. The harem guard was still not comfortable with his presence within the seraglio, but Worthy and Wisdom, who stood behind Alaina, held their tongues. Off to one side was Genevieve and her downturned face and slumped pose was a vivid reminder that he was not the only one who had lost Jared.

Nodding more to himself than anyone else, Jensen cleared his throat. The only sound was the gentle splash of a fountain, a delicate counterpoint to the raspy breeze that ruffled robes and cooled nothing.

“We find that a new year is upon us and there is change afoot in the land. As some of you might know, a truce has been agreed upon between our collective tribes and England. While I believe that truce favors the British, we have managed to hold onto many freedoms mostly because the people of this land presented a unified front to the English and stood firm as one. While some of us,” he paused and looked directly at Genevieve, “sacrificed more than others,” and then he continued to regard the crowd, “it was to the benefit of the many. In the end, to be a good leader, one must always put the needs of his people above all else. And he must do so with an honest heart. Anything less would be disingenuous and unworthy. I have not always done that. Furthermore, my heart has not been with you for some time and that is my shame to bear.”

Jensen swallowed hard. There was a low murmur amongst the others and even Alaina was looking askance at him. In some ways, Jensen was returned to that awful dinner in Somerset, where he was stripped bare and declared wanting. He reminded himself that, in the end, that hadn't been the case. He told himself that he had been so loved that another person was willing to sacrifice their own happiness for him because he was _not_ wanting. Jared had been willing to give up everything for him. He could do no less.

“I have not treated you as I should have,” he continued gravely. “You deserve a better man; a better sheikh. And so I formally renounce my claim to the title, to make way for that better man. From this time forward, my younger brother shall be known as Sheikh Ankour.”

The harem’s collective whispers grew louder and there were many surprised faces in the crowd. But, as Jensen looked them over, he was heartened to see one face smiling back at him – Genevieve. He returned the gesture, moved by her hopeful countenance.

Jake stepped forward and raised his hands in a gesture requesting silence. The others obliged. His younger brother turned to him and held out his hand. Jensen clasped it with gratitude and pride. His brother would be a formidable leader.

“I thank you, brother, for the sacrifices you have made for all of us,” Jake's voice echoed in the courtyard. “You will never be forgotten.” And Jensen knew that last bit was for him and him alone. “When I am done addressing everyone, my second,” and Jake tipped his head to Nasih, “will escort you from this courtyard. You have an hour to collect your belongings and leave. If you ever show your face here again, it will mean instant death.”

Jensen bowed, touching his forehead, lips and chest in deference to the new sheikh. He understood what that last part had cost his little brother. “As you wish, Sheikh,” he said loudly enough for all to hear.

When he stood upright, he couldn't help but notice the way that Alaina had straightened. Her eyes were nearly glowing with excitement. With Jensen’s abdication, she had officially become the Valide. With that one statement from him, she had ascended to the position she had been striving for her entire adult life.

Jacob addressed his harem.

“As Mr. Ackles mentioned,” and something in Jensen both thrilled and feared hearing the name, “the truce with England has been signed. As a show of faith and united spirits, we came to the bargaining table of one mind and purpose. There is a time and a place for that. And, as that day proved, there is strength in unity. But,” Jacob continued, voice sure and strong, “always clasping the hand of your neighbor sometimes holds you back, too.”

A ripple of new whispers flowed over the gathered concubines. Alaina, still basking in the glory of her perceived achievement, hadn't really noticed. Jacob continued on.

“There are times when a man realizes that he must lead, not simply follow blindly in the footsteps of those who came before. While that might be prudent in the midst of a shamal, the skies are clear now. And I have decided that we must take that first step together.”

The others grew restless and their unease spread. Jensen sought out Genevieve and sent her a private smile of reassurance.

“From this day forward,” Jacob announced, “the harem is no more.”

As Jensen expected, the others began to step from side to side and talk more loudly amongst themselves. He nearly ordered them to be quiet, when it struck him that that was no longer his place. The realization stung, but the hurt passed quickly enough.

“Silence,” Jacob ordered, “for now,” he added more serenely. “I understand that this is unprecedented in our recent history. And I more than sympathize with all the questions that must be racing through your minds. Your whole existence has revolved around your role as a concubine. Most of you were ripped from you homelands and families. I…” and here Jacob faltered for the first time, “I cannot guarantee you that your homes and families are still standing. Moreover, I cannot promise you that they might want you back. I simply don’t know.”

A few of the concubines fell to their knees and Jensen wasn't sure if it was gratitude or merely being overcome by the enormity of the changes happening around them.

“What I can promise you,” the young sheikh added quickly, “is that all of you have something that you haven't had in too many years – a choice. And with that choice, comes fear and uncertainty and change. But our fear of change cannot be allowed to hinder us in our efforts to move forward. If we allow our fear to hold sway, it will only lead to stagnation and corruption.”

As Jensen listened to Jacob, he became prouder and prouder. In the full day and night they had holed up after Jensen’s sobering, the two of them had decided many things, including the dissolution of the harem as being paramount amongst those reforms. Jensen had suggested that Jacob might consider approaching Richings as an advisor. He had been quick to assure the younger man that the suggestion was not meant to cast aspersions on his abilities, but Jacob had stopped him with a laugh, telling him that he most definitely needed people around him who were experienced.

“I have always had choices in my life and I have taken that for granted. But do not doubt for an instant,” Jacob assured the former concubines, “that I don't know how frightening it is to have them. I promise you here and now that I will do whatever it takes to see those of you home who wish to leave. For those of you who have grown accustomed to living here, I will not force you to vacate. It is my duty and obligation to care for you, since it was never your choice to be here, but change is afoot.

“I will neither require nor request your company in my chambers. Your person is your own. However, if you decide to remain here, you will need to find new functions within the household. I know,” he pushed on as the others muttered, “that this is overwhelming. No one will force you to decide anything under duress, and I will make sure you have assistance with whatever path you decide to choose. For some, I suspect that you might not to wish to end this type of arrangement, so I have already spoken with some of the neighboring sheiks and more than a few have expressed interest in adding you to their harems.” Jake paused, casting a glance at his mother for the first time since he had begun speaking, and took a deep breath.

“But that is what you have before you – a choice. You can stay with me and we will forge a new path together, or you can stay as you are and go somewhere else, to start the cycle anew,” he concluded and stepped back towards Jensen. “The future is open to you all.” No one noticed, because of the folds of their robes, but Jake squeezed Jensen’s hand then.

“Nasih,” Jacob commanded, “please escort Mr. Ackles to my chambers. He has some effects to gather before his imminent departure.”

“I have one favor to ask, Sheikh Ankour,” Jensen requested with the proper amount of deference.

“Yes?” Jacob replied.

“May I have a word, only in passing, with one of the former harem?”

“In passing, Mr. Ackles. Let him have a moment,” he instructed Nasih, “while I confer with my newly appointed vizier.” And Jacob turned, in a cloud of white, to talk to a slightly bemused Richings.

Nasih led Jensen past the concubines, many who gave him more than a passing glance, including Matthew, who seemed a trifle sad. When he neared Genevieve, his former second stepped discreetly away to afford them a modicum of privacy.

Jensen clasped Genevieve’s hands and the tiny woman smiled, despite the tears pooling in her eyes. “A big day, eh?” he said for lack of anything better.

“You're going to him, aren't you?” Always the hopeful romantic.

“Yes,” Jensen admitted. “I hope he'll have me.”

Genevieve grinned, dark eyes alight with joy. “He loves you,” she said, as if that were all that mattered and maybe that it was true.

“You have some decisions before you,” he told her.

“Yes,” she said with a trace of uncertainty. “I-I am not sure what to do.”

“Do what your sheikh suggested. Take time for yourself and weigh your opportunities. I happen to know,” Jensen continued slyly, “a certain Sheikh Wassim is rather smitten with you.”

Genevieve smirked despite her impending tears. “Oh, really?”

Jensen surged forward and kissed her on her cheek, the first time he had ever touched her in such a familiar fashion. “Make him earn it,” he whispered into her ear. “You don't have to be his concubine, Genevieve. You could be so much more.”

He stepped back and regarded her fondly. “You are a formidable woman, Genevieve, and a man would be fortunate to catch _your_ eye.”

Jensen turned and allowed Nasih to usher him out of the courtyard. From behind him, he heard her call out, “Tell him!”

Jensen turned once and nodded to her, hand raised. She met his wave with one of her own, knowing they would never see each other again.

The walk to his former chambers passed mostly in silence, which Jensen was grateful for. He had no regrets about his decision, but that did not mean he wished to dissect it like one of James’ classroom cadavers. When they arrived at the apartments, Nasih opened the doors but declined to enter. Jensen turned to him before crossing the threshold and offered his arm, which the older man clasped as Jensen did his.

“Keep an eye out for my little brother,” he told the man, “and that scarred comrade-in-arms of yours.”

“I will do my duty gladly,” Nasih promised him. “And know that I would lay down my life for my sheikh.”

Jensen dipped his head in acknowledgement. “That is one of the few reasons why I can leave with a lighter heart,” he disclosed to the older man, who had been not only his but his father’s trusted man-at-arms. Before either one of them became maudlin, Jensen ducked inside to gather the few things he couldn't bear to part with.

A leather pack already contained a few changes of clothes, readied before the announcement in the courtyard. He merely needed to empty out the bottom drawer of his desk, which held the only possessions he valued in this life. He selected a strongbox from a nearby shelf, and unlocked the bottom drawer for the very last time. He placed the journal at the bottom with the deed to his property tucked safely within, then added the pencil case, daguerreotype, and pocket watch. Almost as an afterthought, he scooped the mother-of-pearl pieces that had come loose in Alaina’s room and put them inside the pencil case for safekeeping, along with some jewels and sundries, not to mention the small, black pouch that protected the ring he had had commissioned. The last item he placed in the sturdy container was the drawing Jared had made for him. When he secured the box, he shoved aside the few robes and suits he had packed to make room for it, and buckled the bag closed. Slinging the pack over his shoulder, Jensen left the room without a backward glance.

Nasih marched beside him as they exited the palace and it felt right to Jensen that they should part as equals. When they entered the stables, Nasih said, “My sheikh would like to make a gift to you. He said you should pick any camel you desire and it is yours.”

Jensen smiled, but it was a trifle melancholy. “Please pass along my heartfelt gratitude,” he replied.

As he looked up and down the stables for the final time, not wanting to subject himself to the empty stalls on the opposite side, Jensen walked with deliberate steps over to the only camel he would ever favor.

Stroking Aroob’s nose, he whispered, “You brought me to him once. I'm counting on you to do it again.” Aroob, for her part, broke wind. “I'll take that as a ‘yes’.”

As Jensen lashed his bag behind her saddle, he heard a commotion at the stable entrance. Jacob came rushing inside, robes snapping behind him in his haste.

“You were going to leave without saying goodbye?” he accused Jensen half-heartedly, panting from his run.

“We already did that, little brother,” Jensen reminded him, slipping back into familiarity since there was no one around to witness it. “You did well today,” he told Jake with pride.

His little brother smiled bashfully. “You think so?”

“Most assuredly, my sheikh,” Jensen bowed without a hint of mockery.

When he glanced up, he saw Jake gnawing on his lower lip. “What do you think she’ll do?” he asked, very much a little boy then.

Jensen did need to ask who the “she” was. When Jake had disbanded the harem, he had caught Alaina’s expression shift from shock to resignation. But when she had peeked at her boy, there had been pride shining in her eyes, too.

Jensen grabbed Jake and crushed him against his chest. “She loves you, little brother.” It was a bitter pill to swallow, but that didn’t make it less of a truth. “No matter what else has happened, she’s never wavered in that.” As he was about to release Jake, his sibling squeezed back.

“You can never return,” he whispered softly and Jensen heard him sniff.

“I know,” he replied. When they eventually broke apart, Jensen was hard-pressed not to dab at his own eyes as well. “There is one more thing,” Jensen began and Jake nodded. “My mother’s roses…”

“As long as I live, they will be cared for,” the younger man promised solemnly, understanding their import. Jensen was reminded for the hundredth time what a good man Jake had grown into and how little he had to do with that.

“I let you down as a brother, Jake,” and Jensen pressed his fingers against the younger man’s lips to stifle his protests. “It’s true and we both know it. But I would very much like to be your friend, Sheikh. I think, if you give me the chance, I could be a very good friend. And after all these years, isn’t that more important?”

Jake’s eyes shimmered, but no tears fell. He shored up his shoulders and regarded Jensen seriously. “I think I would very much enjoy the chance to be your friend. I shall look forward to our correspondence eagerly.” And then he thrust out his hand.

Jensen took it and shook it slowly.

“Goodbye, little brother,” he whispered.

“Goodbye, big brother,” and Jacob turned away to leave. Stopping beside Nasih, who had dutifully remained by the entrance, he said, “See that Mr. Ackles is escorted to the city limits with all the respect he deserves.” When Nasih bowed, Jacob looked back once and left.

Jensen didn’t raise his eyes, but instead busied himself with checking his gear and supplies. When he was relatively sure he had enough food and water for his trek, he clucked his tongue. Aroob folded up her spindly legs and he settled himself into the saddle. It was strange, at first, since it had been so many months since he’d ridden anything, but, in the end, it took no more than a minute for his body to remember the rhythm of the beast’s gait. He steered her out of the stable at a gentle walk in consideration for Nasih, who escorted him on foot as ordered.

There were a few standing nearby to see him off, including Alaina. Her presence surprised him, but he dipped his head as he rode past her and she did the same. He wondered if she would stay by Jacob’s side or try her hand at another run for power elsewhere. From his brief conversations with Jason and Tahmoh, he knew the latter man had been very keen to learn that she might be “available”. Considering that Jensen still bore a grudge against him for the way he had frightened Jared, he half-hoped she _would_ join his harem. They deserved each other. He would indeed be interested to hear from his brother what she finally chose – love or power.

The men by the gates hurried to swing them open before him. He clucked at Aroob to have her hasten as he passed the threshold, the men saluting him as he left. He returned the gesture, crop high in his hand and, behind him, the Dhuhr prayer echoed dutifully. As far as farewells went, it seemed appropriate.

The next month passed in a blur. Jensen knew the twelve hundred mile trek would be challenging, and he was fortunate with the time of year as he had no storms to weather. He could have pushed Aroob to cover the distance faster than they did, but he had no desire to overtax her unfairly. They averaged around thirty miles a day by keeping a steady pace. Water was scarce, but Aroob easily managed a month without it, so the wells and oases they did find were more than adequate for her needs. For Jensen, it was a strange period. He was reminded time and again, when he crossed paths with other villages, that he was a man with no country now. His fair complexion garnered enumerable questions and, occasionally, outright hostility. More than once he wanted to shout out that he was “Sheikh Ankour”, but every time he remembered he was that no more. Each day he rode until he was exhausted and each night, under the starry sky, his last, waking thoughts were of Jared and his child.

By the time he reached Cairo, he was a bedraggled mess, all excess burnt away by his journey. Clothes torn and stiff with sand, he was actually elated at the thought of getting a room at the Hotel des Anglais in the lush Ezbekiyeh district. He had stayed there the last time he had traveled to England and he found himself wistfully recollecting the decadent bathtubs and cool glasses of gin and tonics within. When the rare trees that signaled the beginnings of the district appeared, Jensen drove Aroob on. While he could bathe and rid himself of half the desert he was sure he was carrying in his hair and beard, Aroob would be pampered by the hotel’s porters. Jensen decided he would ask one of them where best to find her a suitable home since those men would know the locals better than any English staff. She deserved a good home after all that she had done for him and he pat her on the neck gratefully.

Riding up near the hotel, Jensen dismounted. He recalled his mother’s words about becoming bow-legged from all his riding and decided that if he hadn't been before, this trip would have assured his legs never straighten again. He splayed his hands at the small of his back and stretched his aching muscles, letting out a heartfelt groan. As he reached for his sack, he saw the staff member by the entrance speak hurriedly to two of the Nubian porters. The large men hurried down the steps and Jensen would be grateful to turn over his pack to them.

“Thank you,” he started to say in Arabic, only to have one of the porters explain in no uncertain terms that the hotel did not want men of his kind loitering about the steps and he would do well to move along.

“And if I don’t?” he asked pugnaciously.

“Then I will move you,” the man answered, flexing his arms menacingly.

And while Jensen was spoiling for a fight, he was aware enough to realize he was in no shape for one. He grudgingly tugged on Aroob’s rein and trudged off towards the gardens that the district was known for. Along the perimeter, an old man sat, bundled up in his robes. He ducked his head at Jensen. Jensen took that as a sign his presence wouldn't be rebuffed and sat nearby. Aroob strayed a short distance when she found a fountain and began to drink her fill. Jensen vaguely hoped she might leave him some since he realized that if he didn't find a place to clean up, he wouldn't be allowed to set foot in the hotel. Of course, there were always rooms to be rented from locals; it would just require him to choose carefully. And he was bloody tired.

Dragging a filthy hand down his face, he couldn't stop the weary sigh that slipped from between his lips.

“Tired, my son?” the old man asked, not unkindly.

“To the bone,” he replied without thought. “And my dirty money is not good enough for them,” he added with a jerk of his head towards the hotel.

The old man laughed. Jensen smiled at the genuine mirth in the sound. “It never is with the English,” he agreed, “but I have no issue with theirs.”

“What do you do?” Jensen inquired. The hard, cracked hands of the man were hard to miss. This was no beggar, but a man who worked for a living.

“I was a farmer. But Muhammad Ali took my land and gave it to his friends. He would take all of it if he could and give it to his family or his European allies. Soon enough we won’t be Egypt, but just another country under some crown’s thumb,” he groused. “But,” he added with a smile, “the English apparently have no sense of direction and they pay well for guides who can speak English as well they do.”

Jensen smiled at the man’s spirit.

“So, I linger here every day and see if there is a lost soul who needs my help.” He stood then, unfolding his long legs and brushed briskly at the back of his robes to remove any dirt that clung to him from where he sat. He held out his hand towards Jensen. “Come then. I think you are my lost soul for today.”

Jensen was about to argue that wasn't the case when it dawned on him that the man would be able to recommend a place for him to stay for the night. He did need to clean up if he was going to purchase tickets for the paddle steamer he needed to reach Alexandria and then the longer voyage to England. He rose and ruefully regarded the man.

“I would wipe my hand before I offered it to you, but I don't think there is a clean patch left on my bisht,” Jensen laughed.

The other man chuckled as Jensen clucked for Aroob. “You do seem to be carrying the whole desert on you, my son. Traveled far?” he curiously asked.

“So very far,” Jensen exhaled and he was sorely tired. The brief stop had done nothing so much as remind him that his whole body ached.

“I know a place that’s not too far,” the older man suggested knowingly.

“Is there place for Aroob, too?” Jensen wanted to make certain she would be cared for as well.

“I think there is room for such a beautiful girl,” his guide replied.

They walked for a bit before Jensen realized he had never even introduced himself. “Forgive my rudeness,” he said as he came to a stop and offered his hand. “I am Jensen and this,” he tipped his head to the brown-tufted camel, “is Aroob.”

“And I am Ammar,” the other man announced as he accepted Jensen’s hand, despite the dirt.

They continued on in pleasant company. Jensen was so weary he hardly noticed the hustle and bustle around them as they left the relative peace of Ezbekiyeh district. When the men finally came to a stop, Jensen had to blink his eyes several times. He was exhausted and barely able to stand upright. They had stopped in front of a modest dwelling that bore little resemblance to a rooming house. In fact, it looked like someone’s home.

“Fannah,” Ammar called out as he helped tether Aroob along the side of the house in a patch of shade. He dragged over a bucket and filled it from their well, as Aroob eyed the proceedings eagerly. She might be able to go a month without water, but she certainly wouldn't say “no” to another drink.

A woman peered out from the doorway and took in the scene unfolding in front of her. From what Jensen could see of her face, her expression was one of familiar fondness. Jensen suspected he was not the first stray Ammar had brought here.

“Come,” the older man said, clapping his hand on Jensen’s back even as he helped him with his bag. Fannah bowed politely and disappeared into the rear of the house, towards what was probably the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea or water,” he inquired, “or would you rather refresh yourself and sleep for a while?”

“Is this your home?” Jensen murmured.

“Yes,” Ammar chuckled. “I am going to interpret that as you would like to clean up and rest for the time being.”

The older man ushered him to a sparsely furnished room that held a bed and a basin and not much more. It was more than enough for Jensen.

“I don't know how to thank you,” Jensen said as he began to strip his clothes from his body.

“There is no need,” Ammar assured him. “There is soap and cloths on that table,” he indicated a rickety, wooden bench.

Jensen mumbled something resembling another platitude, while the other man left, closing the door behind him. Jensen barely scrubbed the worst of the fifth from his body before he tumbled onto the pallet and slept like the dead.

When Jensen managed to pry his eyes open, the light in the sky was growing soft and purple. He estimated he had slept for the entire afternoon (he hoped it was the same day, but had no way of knowing). As he rubbed the crust from his eyes, he spotted a fresh towel and water that still steamed in a basin on the bench against the wall. His bag, beside his bed, was untouched and Jensen rifled through it until he found his shaving kit. Propping up the tiny mirror it contained on the bench, Jensen lit a lamp and squatted down to better see himself. Shuddering at the sight he presented, Jensen began the laborious task of shaving off his beard. He had decided he would come to Jared as he originally had and hoped that his boy would still see the man he had first fallen in love with within him. He left his hair for a proper barber to attend to, not eager to butcher it himself.

When he emerged from the room, he was in clean robes with a relatively smooth chin. He heard voices not too far away and followed them into a simple sitting room. Ammar rose when Jensen entered and Fannah lowered her head demurely.

“I see you are up,” he laughed at his obviousness, only hesitating a moment when he saw Jensen’s naked face.

“Yes, and I can't thank you enough. I didn't know how exhausted I was until I saw that bed.”

Ammar shrugged as if it were nothing and urged him to have a seat. His wife left the room only to return almost immediately with a tray full of food and drinks, as though they had been waiting for him to rouse. She excused herself soon after the men were settled.

Despite his best efforts to act with restraint, Jensen practically fell upon the food. The basic fare was nourishing and flavorful, reminding him how much he had forgone in the last month. Before he was even aware of it, he was mopping up the last of some sauce with a curl of flatbread. Sheepishly, he swallowed down a belch.

But his host was not put off. “Good,” he chuckled. “You’ve slept some and now eaten. I think you shall live,” he pronounced. “And your girl’s manners are not far off from your own,” he teased and Jensen relaxed further into the cushion he sat on.

“Again, I don't know how to begin to thank you,” Jensen said after wiping his mouth clean. “I will gladly pay you whatever is –”

“No,” Ammar interrupted him firmly. “The Qur’an ordains that all must do good to neighbors who are near and neighbors who are strangers,” and that was apparently the end of that particular discussion. “But,” he added as an afterthought, “I would not object to hearing how you have managed to arrive so far from home.”

Jensen exhaled loudly. “That _is_ a tale,” he admitted and found himself confessing to the whole, sordid adventure without a mind to how the man might look at him when he was finished. But throughout Jensen’s narrative, Ammar remained silent, nodding occasionally and quirking his brow at other times. By the time Jensen had finished, the moon had risen and he suspected that Fannah had retired to bed for the night.

Bowing his head, he waited for the judgement this man would levy upon him. He didn't have to wait long.

“So,” Ammar said, stroking his greying beard, “you are a man and you made mistakes. And now, after a long pilgrimage through the desert, forsaking all that you had, you will travel on to seek forgiveness from the one you wronged?”

Jensen nodded, throat too raw to make a sound. After he sipped from a cup of water, he croaked, “I will beg on bended knee for it,” he admitted.

“And if he does not bestow it upon you?” the older man pressed him.

“It doesn't matter. And I owe him the only thing he asked for, which was my forgiveness. I,” he paused, breathing heavily, “want to be a part of his life…and my child’s. But I’ll take whatever he gives me.”

Ammar was quiet for a time and Jensen feared the older man might throw him out into the street. “The Qur’an says ‘but if someone is steadfast and forgives, that is the most resolute course to follow’. I think your forgiveness will be met with the same,” he pronounced sagely.

“I hope so,” Jensen whispered.

“Well, I also think it is time to retire. Tomorrow comes early, although my wife argues that tomorrow always come early,” he laughed. “You should rest up so that you can get your ticket at first light for the _Jack O’Lantern_ to carry you down the Nile to Alexandria. I don’t know what the boat schedules are there, so you may have to wait for a time to get passage to England.” He stood up, and stretched his legs. “Ah,” he sighed, “I am getting too old for this life.”

Jensen bade him a good night and retired to his room. Although he didn’t think he could fall asleep so soon after his nap, he was unconscious by the time he rolled over onto the pallet. He slept more soundly than he had in months, his confession to a near-stranger easing his conscience in a way he couldn’t have predicted.

At dawn the next morning, he rose quickly and readied himself for the next leg of his journey. Packing away his thobe and sirwal, he donned one of the few English style suits he had packed. The cloth was wrinkled and could stand a cleaning, but it would do in a pinch. He was sure a rumpled Englishman would still be a welcome one, damned be their hypocrisy.

He tidied the room as best he could and tucked some bills under the basin for Fannah to find. He was sure that Ammar would continue to rebuff his efforts at repayment, but there would be little for him to do once Jensen had departed. Leaving the room, he had one final farewell to make.

Ammar and Fannah were already up and about. The man offered Jensen a cup of coffee, but he demurred, slipping out to see to Aroob. The pale camel was munching on scrub happily enough as Jensen neared her. When he was standing directly in front of the camel, she raised her head and batted her impressive eyelashes at him.

“Thank you,” he told her softly. “That’s twice now that you’ve faithfully brought me as close as you could to Jared. I can’t ever repay you for it. But I think I’ve found you a good home with a kind man. Wish me the same luck, eh?” he joked, but there was a catch in his voice that surprised him with its emotion.

In typical fashion, Aroob let a noxious cloud of gas free.

Jensen chuckled wetly. “Ever the sentimentalist, aren’t you?” He kissed her snout and she went back to eating, practical as always.

When he turned about, Ammar was standing in the doorway, observing their exchange. Jensen cleared his throat when he approached the man. “I have one last favor to ask of you,” he began. “My girl needs a good home and I wonder if you might know of someone who could provide it.” He suspected his request was nothing more than an exercise in politeness, for he had seen the way Ammar’s eyes had softened around her. “I would be grateful.”

“I think I can find someone who will take care of her,” he promised.

“I hope she brings you as much good fortune as she did me.” Jensen shook his hand as he ducked inside to collect his bag. He felt certain the man would take care of her as best he could. And, should he ever fall on harder times, she would be a valuable asset for him. Hoisting his leather bag over his shoulder, he offered his thanks to Fannah as he exited. Ammar, already brushing Aroob, simply held up his hand as though they would meet again. Jensen retuned the gesture, appreciating the way the older man spared him from a potentially emotional scene. He walked off, glad it was still early and the streets were mostly deserted, needing the solitude to collect himself.

When Jensen approached the Hotel des Anglais this time, his arrival was treated much differently. The porters nearly tripped over themselves in their haste to offer to carry his bag, which he refused. He pushed past the doorman who yesterday couldn’t be bothered to give him the time of day. When he marched up to the gleaming desk in the lobby, a bright-faced, young lad grinned up at him.

“How may I help you?” he chirped in perfect English.

“I would appreciate it if someone could arrange tickets for me aboard the paddle steamer to Alexandria and transport to the ship,” he directed in a clipped tone, pulling a large stack of pound notes from his jacket pocket.

“Of course, sir. Would you like a room to refresh yourself while you wait?”

As Jensen counted out the appropriate amount to cover his travel costs, he declined. “That won’t be necessary. I passed a delightful evening at Maison d’Ammar, a place where all men are welcomed when there was no lodging available here yesterday.”

The younger man was about to argue that Jensen was mistaken when he narrowed his gaze, searching Jensen’s face earnestly. His eyes widened in what must have been delayed recognition.

“Not the filthy Arab today, am I?” Jensen hissed as he tucked his money back into his sizable billfold and he couldn’t help but smirk at the barely hidden avarice with which the young man regarded his wallet. “Such a shame,” Jensen declared airily as he went to take a seat and wait for his transportation, “as I am a legendary tipper.”

By the time Jensen was ensconced on the tiny ship chugging down the Nile, he had mostly forgotten the desk clerk. He used the half-day’s voyage to repack his bag, moving his European clothing to the fore, and burying his robes deep at the bottom. He debated about ridding himself completely of the garments, but was reluctant to let go of that part of himself completely. Putting such thoughts aside until later, he stretched out and slept for the remainder of the short trip.

In Alexandria, he had little trouble securing a “respectable” room for himself. The hotel manager assured him a Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company mail steamer was scheduled to arrive in two days’ time and offered to arrange for a first class cabin for Jensen. He agreed as he counted off the fifty some pounds for the fare, glad to have the matter attended to, before retiring for the evening. He did send his clothes down to have the staff clean and press them before falling into bed, however.

The next morning, he picked at his breakfast – a decidedly bland and very British fare – and spent the rest of the day loitering about the city, taking in what sights he could. He visited the odd obelisks that so many of the Europeans had become enamored with and while he could appreciate the history of the pieces, their shape did little for him. He would have rather had been able to walk the corridors of the city’s famed library, long destroyed before he had been born. Instead, he wandered about, eventually returning to the hotel to sample their dinner menu. He was decidedly not impressed.

When he woke the next day, he was filled with a nervous energy, which was quite foolish really. If the ship had docked, it would still need to restock its coal and food supplies at the very least before returning to Southampton. Nevertheless, he dressed in one of his freshly pressed suits and meandered down to the docks. There, in all its glory, was the P&O paddle steamer _Sultan_.  When Jensen read the name, he couldn't help himself and began to laugh. How oddly ironic a name so close to his own, former title should be what ferries him back to England. He laughed for so long that tears came to his eyes and not merely a few eyed him as though he had gone round the bend. Wiping at his face, he collected himself, checked with the ship’s officers and confirmed their departure for England would be in two days, but his cabin would be ready on the morrow and he was encouraged to board then so as not to have to rush about on the actual day of departure.

Jensen was happy to oblige them. If he was going to have to mill about in a room, it might as well be on the ship. He checked out of his hotel the following day, surprising the crew with his lack of luggage. A sailor commented on his ability to travel so lightly, like a seaman with his one sack. Jensen nodded and agreed with him regarding the freedom allowed by traveling like that. Little did the crewman know that Jensen carried a weight of a much different kind. And he hoped he might be able to lay it down one day, with Jared’s blessing.

Once the mail was offloaded and the other passengers onboard, the _Sultan_ left Alexandria. Jensen didn’t stand on the deck, like the other passengers did. He had seen the view before and this time, his farewells had already been said. He declined to join the others in the main dining rooms and ate in his cabin. The very thought of passing idle chatter with anyone else turned his stomach, already clenching with nerves. He did, however, make an appointment with the ship’s barber for a shave and a haircut, not trusting himself with the latter especially with the ship’s movement.

The following day, draped in a sheet to protect his clothes, Jensen leaned back in the chair and allowed the man to scrape his face free of the remains of his beard and trim down his hair into a style he found more comfortable. The man had tsked and tried to persuade Jensen to merely shape it and allow his dark-blond hair to grow out, but Jensen preferred it short and said as much. He had hoped to pass the afternoon quietly, but the barber was a chatty sort. With Jensen’s face wrapped in a hot cloth, the man blathered on about this and that. Jensen had almost successfully blotted out what he was saying until he mentioned something about how the ship had been lucky to escape quarantine. That had Jensen pricking his ears. Mumbling his curiosity from behind the towel, Jensen was forced to listen as the barber went on to explain how there had been rumblings amongst the government about trying to institute another quarantine like they did in the 30’s, but the public had let up such a hue and cry that the proposal went nowhere.

Jensen angrily ripped away the towel. “But why would they institute a quarantine, man?” Jensen demanded.

The barber cocked back his head. “How long have you been abroad? Surely you heard that in September of last year, they finally declared another cholera epidemic in both London and cities farther afield?”

Jensen blanched at the news. The disease that wreaked such havoc with a person’s intestines had ravaged much of the city of London in 1849, claiming over fourteen thousand lives, which was twice the number “King Cholera” claimed in ’32. And now they were in the midst of a third?

“Are you all right, sir? You’ve gone quite pale. Was the towel too hot? Jimmy is always accusing me of scalding the things, but I believe a hot –”

“No,” Jensen interrupted him, fairly bursting from the chair. He hurriedly tipped the man and decided to seek out the captain with the barber’s pleased noises over his gratuity lost behind him.

Jensen found the captain on the forecastle, accompanied by his first officer. The captain was short, with an extremely receding hairline that skirted baldness. His first officer – with black locks swimming in pomade and sporting awkwardly designed glasses – was an unremarkable man who stood a hair or two taller than his captain. Both men were engrossed in their discussion as the captain pointed out things on the ship, while the first officer shook his head in the negative. When Jensen caught up with them, the captain politely asked if he was enjoying the voyage.

“Captain Kripke,” Jensen said, ignoring the man’s pleasantries, “what’s this about a cholera epidemic in London?”

The captain gave him an odd expression after some deliberation. “Well, I don’t know if it is an epidemic,” he first officer chimed in.

“Carver,” the captain began.

“Captain, the man asked if there was an epidemic,” he told the shorter man. “As I was saying, I am not sure how much of an ‘epidemic’ there really is.”

“Officer, you said the same about the contagion of ’32,” Kripke interjected.

“Well, I am not the only one who thought that was a bugbear fabricated to scare us and distract us from the Reform Bill we were trying pass.” The man paused and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “The elite were loath to give up their power. In fact, they even used that ‘cholera’ scare to railroad sick people into special ‘cholera hospitals’ so that officials could offer their bodies up to medical schools for dissection the moment they died.”

“Officer Carver, now you’re disregarding fact and rewriting history…” Kripke argued.

Jensen had a feeling these two men would just go on and on ad infinitum. “Gentlemen,” he snapped and then forced a civil smile, “I would be very grateful if one of you would inform me what state the city is currently in.” He tried very hard not to picture Jared overcome by the illness. He’d never experienced it first hand, but had heard enough horrific descriptions of the way the victims of the disease lost control of their bowels and withered away in a matter of days, skin nearly blue by the time they died in terrible agony.

“The authorities declared an epidemic last September and began plastering the city with notifications on how to conduct and care for oneself to prevent cholera in the months since,” Captain Kripke explained, while his first officer tapped his foot. “Several thousand have died in London, Newcastle and Gateshead.”

“Yes, well,” the officer interrupted with a snide tone, “I suppose that is what the _authorities_ have reported, but it wasn't enough for them to try and enforce a quarantine on ships coming and going through the ports, so it can’t be too serious. Besides, the bracing sea air cures most of what ails one in any case. If Parliament spent more time cleaning up the city and seeing to the unfortunates and cut throats that live in the swampy Devil’s Acre by Westminster Abbey…”

“Carver,” Kripke sighed, “please confine yourself to the facts…”

Jensen bid them a good evening, realizing that the men would only prattle on and offer him little more information besides the tally of the dead the captain had already given him. Feeling a queasiness that had nothing to do with the motion of the ship and everything to do with the growing fear inside him, Jensen relegated himself to his cabin. But behind closed doors, his imagination ran to extremes. At times, he envisioned James and Jared at their father’s London townhouse, pounding on the doors for entrance while their father watched from a curtained window above and left them to the ravages of the disease that ran riot in the streets.

At other times, he pictured Jared first losing their child and then succumbing himself to the illness, all the while wondering why Jensen had sent him off to face such certain doom. And to add to the creeping horror, his mind carried it one step further. Once dead, his body was sold to medical students, since no one was there to claim it, and he ended up on a table before James.

“Damn that Carver,” Jensen muttered, “and his wretched storytelling.”

He was one step away from summoning a crewmember for a bottle of spirits when he remembered what a state he had fallen into back in Qatar. And there would be no caring brother to save him this time, so he stopped himself before tumbling down that tumultuous course. Instead, he kept mostly to himself, which did little to assuage his fears, but also kept him from committing any foolish acts. Of course, by secreting himself away from the other passengers, he became an object of fascination to all the available, young ladies and not a few of their chaperones. If he could have heard the stories that swirled about him, painting him as a retired officer returning from service in India to an adventurer back from a dig in Cairo, he would have laughed himself to tears. He simply sat in his room, counting down the days until they would reach land. The inability to know that very instant what was transpiring beyond the small world of their ship was near maddening.

Nearly a fortnight later, land was in sight and Jensen was already packed and waiting on deck. The gangway was barely in place before he dashed down its length and pushed his way through the waiting crowd at the docks with no regard for whose foot he might have crushed in his haste. When he cleared the throngs of visitors, gawkers and hawkers, he spied a nearby cluster of cabbies loitering about to convey people to their final destinations. He went up to the first one in the queue and tossed the driver his bag.

“I need to go to London,” he ordered as the man scrambled down to help him with the door.

“Right, sir. Make yourself comfortable. I don’t suppose we’ll need to wait too long to fill ‘er up.”

Jensen pulled out his billfold. “No need to wait. I will hire out the whole cab.” As the driver goggled at the stack of pound notes, he added, “And I will add a sizable bonus to the fare if you get me there by nightfall.”

He knew it would be a hard ride and the man would have to push his team, but with a nearly empty carriage, it was possible.

“Right, sir,” the man agreed cheerfully enough, shutting the door and latching it. “And we’re off!” he shouted as he snapped his reins. The carriage lurched forward and Jensen tried to settle himself into the upholstered, leather seats. The ride was not unlike the last time he’d been in a carriage here, but was also leagues different.

The land was bursting with green and, under other circumstances, Jensen suspected he would have been as entranced with the current sight as he had been two years prior. But the lush colors appearing as spring began to rear its head (the cabbie had mentioned something about March when he’d strapped Jensen’s luggage down) meant little to him at the moment. All that he could think about was Jared. And while part of him wanted to pepper the cabbie with questions about the epidemic, simply the fact that the man was willing to venture into the city seemed promising and he decided to hang onto that notion rather than dash his hopes against cold realities.

They made only one stop about halfway along for water and so that they both might relieve themselves before the cabbie pushed his team onward. And, true enough, the man brought Jensen bouncing and jouncing into the city just before nightfall, pulling up alongside the Padaleckis’ townhouse. The Thames was not far away, but Jensen, as the driver opened his door, smelled it long before he saw it. The odor was not unlike a cesspool and he placed a pocket square over his mouth and nose.

“Aye, it’s a right stench,” the cabbie agreed jovially. “Probably why so many are gettin’ sick. They need to clear the air. It’s only going to get worse come summertime.” He handed Jensen his bag and made no effort to hide the way he licked his lips.

“Here you go,” Jensen said and hurriedly thrust the money at the driver.

“Will you be making another stop or is this home, sir?”

 _Home_ , Jensen repeated the word to himself. He wasn’t sure what was waiting for him up those steps.

“I,” he hesitated, “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” the man decided as he tipped his hat.

Jensen nodded back as he gripped the handles to his bag and climbed the stairs to the front door. With the merest trace of trepidation, Jensen pounded on the brass knocker. It was only a minute before the butler, Alan, opened the door. The dour man, who had always been a decent sort to Jensen, widened his eyes briefly before his training took over and he composed himself.

“Mr. Ackles, what a…surprise to see you,” he said.

“Alan, is Jared here?” he demanded, politeness swept aside in the face of his desperation.

“No, Master Jared isn't here. His brother isn't, either,” the man offered unsolicited, although it wasn't his place to do so.

Jensen swallowed past a formidable lump in his throat. “Would you please tell Mr. Padalecki that I should like a word with him?”

The butler had him leave his bag in the foyer as he ushered him inside and toward the sitting room. Jensen found himself remembering how the whole house had been decorated when last he was here, dripping in evergreens and mistletoe, smelling sharp and tangy with pine. It was bare now and, moreover, there seemed to be an absence of life to the household. When Jensen took an uncomfortable seat in the room, Alan had to turn on some lights as the place had been empty. The air was musty and stale. Jensen idly wondered where Elizabeth was. It seemed too early to retire, but then he told himself it was none of his affair. He only needed for George to tell him where Jared was and he would be quit of the place.

George let him stew about for over a half an hour before he deigned to make an appearance. Despite knowing what he did about a man who might still demand satisfaction, Jensen grit his teeth and followed the proper etiquette. He rose rapidly to his feet and offered the Padalecki patriarch his hand as George stepped more fully into the room. Jensen’s hand wavered when he got a better view of him.

The arrogant, tall man he had come to associate with Jared’s father was nowhere in sight. Instead, there appeared a man stooped a trifle by age, whose thick, brown hair now held skeins of gray in the mix. Lines near where dimples existed on Jared framed his mouth in cruel cuts. He didn't hold out his hand in return.

“What do you want?” he began without preamble.

“I would very much like to speak to Jared,” Jensen replied, laying all his cards up for George to see, holding nothing back.

“You’re too late for that,” George snapped back with some bite.

Jensen’s heart beat so hard against his chest he was certain his ribs cracked under the force. “W-what do you mean?” And Jensen meant for it to be a demand, but it came out a frightened plea.

George smiled unpleasantly and Jensen’s knees liquefied.

“He and his ne’er-do-well brother were here some months ago, hands out like beggars. But I had no use for a son who had turned his back on the family business and even less use for a…” and here George paused, apparently searching for the right word, “a _person_ carrying a bastard child.”

“How dare you!” Jensen hissed, hands clenched into fists.

George snorted. “As soon as I saw him, I knew you had had a hand in it. Well, apparently you had more than a hand in him, didn’t you?”

Jensen couldn't hold onto his rage any longer and advanced on the man, shoving him against the wall. “I will not stand here and let you disparage Jared.” Trying to rein in his temper since he still didn't know what had become of his boy, Jensen grated, “How can you say those things about your own son?”

George’s grin faltered. “I have no sons.”

Jensen stepped back slightly, finding it hard to believe his ears. “You disowned them both?” he gasped.

George straightened himself up and brushed at his jacket where Jensen had laid hands on him. “I have no use for a boy who can't follow his father's wishes and, thanks to Parliament’s India Act of last autumn, I have no use for the other one now, either.”

Jensen shook his head, unable to make heads or tails of what a government act would have to do with Jared’s worth. He was about to press the issue of where Jared might have gone when Alan and Fredrick – who had apparently survived his apprenticeship – came bustling in.

“Please see that this man,” George flicked a dismissive hand in Jensen’s direction, “is shown to the door. If he presents you with any difficulties, whistle for the constables.”

“Come on now, sir,” Alan urged Jensen as Fredrick stepped uneasily around to the other side of him.

Jensen debated his situation. He could easily overpower the two, but to what end? George was unlikely to actually know anything of worth if he had stripped the boys of their place within the family. He didn't bother with any false pleasantries and allowed Alan to lead him out of the bleak room back to the foyer. Fredrick handed him his bag while Alan opened the door. As Frederick left them alone, apparently convinced that Jensen was no longer a threat, the butler ushered him outside.

Swinging his bag across his shoulder, Jensen was surprised when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Turning back, expecting the butler to get a jab in before he left, Jensen was shocked to see a thoughtful expression on the older man’s face.

“It's a shame, really, that you didn't get a chance to bid your farewell to Mrs. Padalecki,” he said quietly.

Jensen shook his head. “I don’t see how that would have made a difference.”

Alan shrugged. “Too true, sir. Still, I'm sure if she hadn’t retired to the country not long after Master Jared’s visit, she would have liked to exchange a word with you.” And with that, he closed the door softly in Jensen’s face.

Nonplussed, Jensen stood there for a minute and let the import of the man’s words sink in. Elizabeth had returned to Montacute House in South Somerset _._ Jensen placed his hand flat against the door and breathed, “Thank you,” before hurrying off to find another cab.

Walking briskly through Covent Gardens, desperate to escape the all-pervading stench of waste coming from the river, Jensen noticed one the of the cholera placards that Captain Kripke had spoken of. Posted back in November, it urged the poor to stay dry, not indulge in spirits save for the occasional beer, eat well and rest up. It also listed a number of physicians who would accept appointment to see them if they presented with symptoms, which was a step up from the other outbreaks when hospitals outright refused cholera patients admittance. Jensen shivered and hoped that Jared had taken care of himself.

By the time he reached a more populated area of the city, and passed more of those ominous placards than he cared to count, Jensen was once again exhausted. The emotional whirl he was caught in was wearing. He settled on one of the fist cabbies he could find and struck a similar bargain to take him to Somerset. This time, however, he all but collapsed across the seats and didn't rouse even as the current cabbie had the unerring ability to discover every pothole and rut between London and Somerset.

It was early morning when they arrived at Montacute House. Jensen had woken after dawn and nearly counted off the remaining miles until they had arrived, along with the divots in the roads. He stepped out of the cab, paying the driver and stood there as the man urged his team on. It was quiet, peaceful, with only a few birds chirping in the clear, morning light. Jensen shivered, no longer used to the climate, and took the steps to the main entrance two at a time. He pounded on the door, confident some of the servants would be about even if the lady of the house wasn't.

When a servant whom he didn't know opened the door, he became acutely aware of his appearance. His suit was rumpled, he had no hat or gloves, no calling card to offer and he was sure he had circles under his eyes. But the woman gave him a once-over after he announced his desire to see Mrs. Padalecki and had one of the other maids take him to the massive house’s sitting room.

“Would you like some tea, sir?” the young girl asked. She was a pretty thing with a sweet smile.

“That would be lovely,” he agreed if only to appear polite. She curtsied and disappeared through a side door.

Unlike George, Elizabeth did not keep him waiting nearly so long. She entered the room quietly. Dressed in dove grey, it highlighted the silver he spotted in her dark locks, which she wore loosely about her slim shoulders. Like George, she seemed to have aged more than expected since he’d last laid eyes upon her.

“Jensen,” she said when she saw him and he rose immediately to take her hand. He leaned over and brushed his lips to her knuckles. When he stood up, he saw that she did not blush as she once had and he fret over what her reception of him would ultimately be.

“Please be seated,” she insisted, pointing to the chair beside the settee she settled herself on. “Mary should be along shortly with some tea and light sandwiches. I suspect,” she peered at him seriously, “that you must have come a long way and would like a bite to eat.”

Jensen didn't trust himself to speak, sure he would only demand to know about Jared. He bobbed his head up and down dumbly.

“And,” she added a moment later, “I would suppose that you have many questions for me, don't you, Jensen?”

“Oh yes, ma’am,” Jensen exhaled in a single breath. “I most assuredly do.”

The young servant – Mary – entered and placed a tray on the table between the two of them. “Go ahead and serve the tea, my dear” Elizabeth directed the young girl and Jensen was surprised to see her hand over that detail to the maid. But, upon closer inspection, Jensen noticed lines of weariness along Elizabeth’s brow that did not lessen even when she smiled. When they both had steaming cups before them, young Mary curtsied and left them to their privacy.

Taking a delicate sip of the brew, she sighed. “You want to know about Jared.” It was not a question.

With his mouth full of some insipid, wilted sandwich, Jensen was forced to nod.

“He is not here,” she informed him bluntly, “but he is well,” she quickly added when it appeared that Jensen might choke down his food in the effort to speak. “He’s with James.”

Jensen breathed out noisily and the tension, which had previously screwed up his spine and shoulders, gradually unwound. “Thank God,” he whispered.

“Thank God, indeed,” Mrs. Padalecki concurred. “I assume you've been to see my h-” she stumbled and then corrected herself, “George, haven't you? And I assume by your demeanor that he did nothing to alleviate your concerns about my boy’s health?”

“No, ma’am,” Jensen said from behind a linen that he dabbed his mouth against. “He was less than forthcoming.”

Elizabeth chuckled, but it was bitter, like shattering china. “What did he tell you, if anything?”

“Only that he had disowned both of them after Jared returned,” Jensen told her.

She sucked in her lower lip and Jensen was immediately reminded of Jared doing the same thing. It was a sweetly melancholic gesture. “He did, against my express wishes. But I suppose my desires have mattered very little to the man over the last, two decades.” Her frankness startled Jensen.

She sighed heavily. “When he did so, George and I came to an impasse. After much deliberation, we decided that he should remain in the city to attend to business,” and the way the proper Mrs. Padalecki pronounced the word made it sound like the filthiest expletive ever uttered, “while I would spend my time here.”

Divorce was practically unheard of, although not an impossibility, amongst the ton. For all intents and purposes, she basically admitted that she and George had separated. He doubted they would ever mend the bridge that existed between them and reconcile.

“I see,” Jensen offered, simply to say something.

“I am no innocent in some of the mistakes and plans that my husband concocted over the years, but I had to draw the line at my children’s existence. It was too little too late, but better than never, I suppose. And now,” she said and smiled genuinely for the first time since Jensen had arrived, “to the matter at hand.”

“Yes, please,” Jensen urged her.

“James has taken up residence in Gosport, near Portsmouth, and Jared is with him,” she explained and her expression became puzzled when Jensen began to laugh.

“I-I don’t understand,” she asked him when he finally got himself under control.

Wiping his eyes, Jensen chuckled, thinking about all the mad carriage rides he had taken in the last two days. “I landed in Southampton and was not more than 20 miles away from him all along.”

“Oh, well, I suppose that is humorous,” Elizabeth admitted, “in the grand scheme of things. Have you come to make amends?” she whispered conspiratorial.

“I hope to,” he promised her.

She stared at him for a long time before clasping his hands in hers. “Good,” she pronounced. “Now, finish those horrid, little sandwiches while I have one of the men ready a carriage for you. You should be quite the expert passenger by now.” Jensen grinned at her gratefully. “I would offer to put you up for the night, but I suspect you would only refuse me.”

“True, madam,” he confessed as he grabbed a sandwich without being aware that he did so.

Elizabeth rang for a maid and passed along instructions to have a carriage outfitted for the journey.

“Why Gosport?” Jensen inquired.

“I don't know if you knew of the boys’ paternal grandfather?” she began and Jensen remembered that Christmas when James had admitted to becoming reacquainted with the man.

“Only in the vaguest sense,” he replied.

“He passed on while James was…away,” she hesitated and Jensen’s face flushed in shame. “Apparently, he left all that he had to James, with the codicil that he share it with his younger brother. He was a rabbi for a small congregation of Jews in Portsmouth and lived in Gosport.

“I was so glad that they were out of the city,” she admitted, “what with King Cholera making the rounds again. Better to be out in the country or by the sea, than to breathe in the stench of the Thames and fall ill. I wish George would consider…” She trailed off into silence. Whatever else there was or wasn't between them, Jensen saw that there was still love there. Somehow, that made their situation all the more poignant to him – each one trapped in a cage of their own making.

The under-butler came in and announced the carriage was ready. Elizabeth waved her hand at Jensen. “Off you go,” she urged him.

He dropped to one knee in front of her. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said honestly and kissed her hand once again. This time, a pink hue stained her cheeks and he saw a trace of a dimple in her demure smile as he rose to his feet.

“When you see them,” she called out to Jensen as he crossed the room, “give them their mother’s regards.” Her voice cracked at the end.

“I most assuredly will,” he promised her, bowing a final time.

Although the journey was as long as the others he had made, this time Jensen was able to at least appreciate some of the scenery. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself. The later in the day it grew, the more he wanted to get out and race the carriage to their destination. Probably the only thing that stopped him was he didn't know where exactly in Gosport Jared was. It didn't matter, though. He would wander the streets shouting his boy’s name until he found him if needs must.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, Jensen caught the first whiff of salty air and knew they were close. When the carriage’s hectic pace finally did slow, he was about ready to take off on foot. With practiced familiarity, the driver turned down a picturesque, little road and Jensen found himself plastered to the window. At the end of the gravel drive, they passed through a small gate, which was flung open and just beyond it, nested atop a lush, emerald lawn, was a red-roofed cottage.

The exterior was done in white and the windows that Jensen saw were a mix of gothic and, surprisingly enough, Islamic style. The beautiful building was a stellar example of cottage ornée architecture. Metalwork trellises wrapped around part of the curved exterior and wisteria wove its way through it all. And somewhere inside was Jared. Jensen’s mouth was as dry as the Al-Ramlah.

When the carriage stopped, Jensen threw open the tiny door and nearly ran up the front steps. The setting sun cast a tangerine hue to the stucco walls, washing everything in its warm embrace. Jensen rapped on the door and then stood there, fighting the urge to bite his lip. From somewhere inside, he heard heavy footsteps along a wooden floor. He knocked again, not hearing the sound over the noisy beating of his own heart.

“Just a blasted minute,” a man grumbled and then opened the door. Jensen found himself having to look up to meet James’ shocked face.

“Hello, James,” Jensen said. Well, “He-” was about all he managed to say before lights exploded behind his eyes and he found he suddenly had to look much farther up to see James, who somehow towered above him, chest heaving, with his fist balled at his side.

Rubbing his aching jaw, Jensen was about to speak again, when he heard a sweet voice from the depths of the house.

“James, what on earth-” Jared started and then came to a stop behind his big brother. “Jensen?” he gasped.

“Jared,” Jensen exhaled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1854 was the middle of the third cholera pandemic that would claim a million lives in Russia, hundreds of thousands in Japan and South America and even reach the US. In London, the death toll would peak in August of that year, claiming thousands in the Soho district. By the time it was over, ten thousand would be dead in London.
> 
> The obelisk pictured here is one of three that would travel the world and eventually end up in New York City. The other two would go to Paris and London, respectively.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a repeated warning since I know that some of you who are reading this aren't mpreg fans...there's mpreg in this chapter, although nothing too graphic in detail.

_ _

_March 2 nd, 1854_

_Gosport, Near Portsmouth_

“James!” Jared shouted. “Are you sure there’s only one in here?”

“Yes, brother,” James chuckled as he leaned around the doorway to Jared’s bedroom. “You heard the heartbeat yourself.”

Even as he struggled with his pants, Jared couldn't stop from smiling at that. He vividly recalled when James had pulled out his new stethoscope, shipped over from America by a George Tiemann, and had placed the tubes in Jared’s ears and directed the listening end over Jared’s impressive belly. The design, something a New York doctor by the name of Cammann had perfected, was amazing and Jared’s eyes had all but bulged out when he heard the rapid-fire staccato of his child’s heart. Tears had sprung, unbidden, at the sound and James was equally as moved when he listened in. Traci, Gosport’s resident midwife, had been mildly curious despite her resistance to working together with James. The woman was fine with him taking up practice as the local doctor, but tried to draw the line at midwifery.

“’Tis none o’ your concern, laddie,” the feisty, dark-haired woman had argued. The young midwife hailed from Scotland, although her brogue was mild enough to pass for English unless she got riled up. And James riled her up on a near-daily basis. She did her best to return the favor.

“Miss Dinwiddie, just because the professors at Oxford tried to keep this from us is no excuse for you to do the same,” he had argued.

The slender woman had placed her hands on her hips stubbornly. “Don’t be a knob,” she had scolded him. “Midwifery belongs to the women. At least those stuffy, old birds at your precious university got that right.”

“He’s not a woman,” James had sputtered, waving his large hand at Jared. For his part, Jared had slapped a hand delightedly over his mouth as soon as Traci had called James a cock.

“He is special,” she pronounced then and patted him on his shoulder.

“I'm special,” Jared had beamed, secretly delighting in their exchange. He had seen the sparks that passed between them like lightning in a summer storm. He hoped that it might ignite something between them as they were well matched in his eyes, equally passionate about the health and welfare of others. And he had to admit he appreciated the way she never made him feel different. Although Gosport’s population had grown exponentially in the previous, few years as traveling to the country became less arduous and more enjoyable for the elite, he was still the only carrier amongst its sixteen thousand permanent residents and he did garner a few side-eyed glances when he was about in the village proper. Traci had been quick to bolster him, once they'd become acquainted, that Jared was indeed special. “Blessed,” she had assured him. And, she had taken the initiative to explain to Jared all the changes he could expect his body to go through before they happened, especially the momentous ones in the final, two months. If not for her, he would have thought himself dying when the birth canal formed a week ago.

“Special, my arse,” James had groused and then sobered. “If they had given us the option to learn about the topic, I might not have been so quick to drag Jared halfway around the world.” Jared had commiserated with him on that point, understanding James still harbored a huge amount of guilt about their abrupt return to England once he’d discovered the full import of Jared’s condition. And to compound matters, they had landed smack dab in the midst of a cholera epidemic. Their timing could not have been much worse if they had actually planned for it to happen that way.

Traci’s expression had softened at James’ obvious distress. “Well now, those of us who can have babies are made of sterner stuff. True, the carriage ride between Suez and Cairo couldn't have been comfortable, but 'twas hardly a danger t’ the laddie or the wee one. And comin’ home on a steamer was quick and painless, compared to the longer route of a Blackwall Frigate. You could have done much worse.”

Jared would have argued about that. Even though the voyage had only been less than a fortnight, he was still miserably sick. Worse, in point of fact, than he had been during the months’ long voyage aboard the _Northfleet_. But he was not nearly foolish enough to outright disagree with the woman. He liked his private parts right where they were, thank you kindly.

“Yes, but if I had known…” James began and the two had wandered off, bickering, while Jared used the stethoscope to listen in on his child again. He had grown used to their crossing swords and was counting the days until they might be cooing at each other instead of sniping.

Back in the here and now, Jared huffed as he struggled with another button, “Perhaps your contraption was mistaken. I swear, I’m going to need a new panel for the front of these pants at this rate.” Since there were no other carriers in Gosport, the local tailor had come up with a rather ingenious method so that Jared didn't need new trousers every month. The front had a replaceable panel that buttoned down both sides and across the bottom. As he grew larger, the tailor simply sewed a larger front piece for the trousers to accommodate the babe.

“Only another month, little brother,” James teased. “I think you can make it.”

“One more month,” Jared sighed and his face must have shown some of the sadness that always accompanied his thoughts about the child – his and Jensen’s child.

“Jared,” his older brother said sternly, noticing the change immediately.

“No, James,” he stopped him with a raised hand. “I don't want to get into it with you again. Can you just let it be?” Jared implored him.

Jared didn't miss how James’ face melted from stern reproach to remorse. “I don't wish to anger you, little brother. I just don't understand how you can feel anything but anger towards that man.” James stopped calling Jensen by his given name the moment they had been reunited. He had been relegated to “that man” when he was in a generous mood and “blasted devil” when he wasn’t.

“I’ve tried to explain it to you more than once, brother. How hard can it be for you to grasp that this,” and he paused to stroke his stomach, smiling as there was an answering kick to his touch, “is just as much a part of Jensen as it is me? Would you rather I hate our child like our father does? Like he hates us?”

“No,” James was quick to reassure him, coming to sit beside Jared on his bed. “I would never wish that.” He huffed and dragged his fingers through his hair, almost as unruly as Jared’s. “I just don’t understand how you can forgive him at all, let alone so quickly, I suppose.”

Jared smiled sadly. He sympathized with how James struggled over the concept of Jared’s forgiveness. At times, he himself didn't know if he was weak for it or stronger because of it. “I hurt him terribly,” Jared whispered.

“But you did it to save him,” James insisted and Jared bobbed his head in agreement.

“That doesn't change the fact that I hurt him the only way he could be hurt. And he didn't know that my reasons were genuinely altruistic. His pain was very, very real.” And his anger, although justified, had been very harsh. Jared shuddered slightly. “He was right to be angry.”

“He didn't have to be so cruel,” James pointed out delicately. Jared had told him some of what happened, omitting things his brother didn't need to learn about.

“No,” Jared admitted finally. “The seeds of hatred that I planted in him bore bitter fruit. That anger flourished and twisted him up inside. But he’s human and we are imperfect creatures. We make mistakes and, hopefully, we grow from them. I was cruel, too,” he twisted around as best he could to meet James’ gaze, brushing his overly long fringe aside, “despite my intentions being honorable. Please don’t diminish his hurt.”

“Still don’t understand how you can forgive him,” James mumbled and Jared couldn't help but laugh. His impossibly bigger brother sounded like a five-year-old then. All that was missing from the picture he presented was him scuffing his feet in the dirt and kicking pebbles about.

“I had to forgive him,” Jared explained gently, “because I also very much needed to forgive myself for what I did to him. I deserved forgiveness. And there is this,” he said lovingly, framing his midriff with both hands. “Father would never have let us be together anywhere in this world no matter where we might have run to back then. Bloody hell, he never would have told me what I am, either. And this miracle would never have happened if everything else hadn't played out exactly like it did. This child is absolute proof Jensen and I were meant to be together, even if it was only for a short time.”

Jared knew that James was still struggling with it all and that was all right. Those were James’ concerns to manage within himself. Jared had come to an understanding and a peace about the chain of events that led him to this moment and that was all that mattered in the end. He was the one who had to live with himself every, single day and he was the one who would have to be a parent to the child he had conceived with Jensen. He loved Jensen. He always would. And he would love that part of him that resided within his child just as much. He didn't have room in his heart for hatred. Hatred was the cage his father lived in. Jared would live freely.

“He should have fought harder to keep you at his side then,” James eventually argued. “Or come after you.”

Jared chuckled at him. “You flop from one side of the argument to the other like a fish on a riverbank. You were the one who charged in and demanded my release. You were the one who had finagled an entire group of delegates to hang an international treaty on my fate.” James perked up at that, clearly pleased with himself. “And don't think I have completely forgiven _you_ yet for letting me believe for nearly a week’s time that _that_ had been Jensen’s grand coup all along – to use me as a political, bargaining chip.”

“You wouldn't have gotten on the ship in Doheh otherwise,” James groused.

“No, I wouldn't have. But you caught me unawares when I was low and still recovering from that poisoning.”

James’ face hardened. “I can't believe that animal did that to you. I did the right thing getting you free of the lot of them.”

“See?” Jared snapped, becoming exasperated. “There you go again. Talk to me about this again when you've made up your mind because you are making me dizzy.”

“Really? Do you feel ill?” James asked, suddenly solicitous and as worried as he had been since Jared had returned.

“No, you arse,” Jared quipped, slapping James’ hands away. “But go away before you do make me sick with your back and forth like a ship on the ocean.” He grinned to take the bite out of his words.

James smiled in return, rising to his feet to consider his little brother. He tilted his head thoughtfully to one side. “You know, I think you do need a bigger panel now that I’ve taken a good look at you.” He easily danced out of reach of Jared’s flailing arms at the insult.

“Why you –” Jared snarled, trying and not managing to stand up quickly. “Fine,” he huffed, “take advantage of a fellow when he’s down. You’ll get yours soon enough.”

James was poised to say something pithy when there was a pounding at the front door.

Jared smiled, slow and sweet. “See how quickly retribution arrives? Someone needs the good doctor of Gosport, whose work is never done be it day or night.”

James grumbled, “Probably just that blasted woman come to complain about something I prescribed to someone. She’ll have a list an arm long about why I chose all the wrong ingredients…” he muttered as he stalked off.

Jared’s smile melted away. Despite his resolve, there was the tiniest part of him that did wish Jensen had come after him. It was foolish and unrealistic and hopelessly romantic, but it was true nonetheless. However, his rational mind pointed out that Jensen had responsibilities and duties that far outweighed the ones he had to his new family. He told himself this daily and supposed that one day he would believe it through and through. Today, however, was not that day.

The pounding returned a second time and Jared smirked at James’ irritated reply. He wondered what excuse Traci had come up with this time to drive his brother to distraction. Her pretexts were getting more and more entertaining. Levering his arms behind him, he managed to shove himself into a standing position, which was a struggle these days, eager to listen in on them quibble. What he did hear was like nothing he had anticipated.

There was a crack of flesh against flesh and a resounding thud, which had Jared’s heart racing. There was no reason that James would have struck Traci. “James, what on earth…” he started as he came up behind his brother, whose broad body blocked the doorway in a defensive stance. Peering over his brother’s shoulder, he was shocked to see _Jensen_ flat on his arse, rubbing his jaw.

“Jensen?” he gasped.

“Jared,” the man exhaled from where he sat like his name was a prayer.

“Jensen?” he repeated stupidly, but there was nothing else that came to mind. Legs akimbo on the doormat and suit rumpled, Jensen had an idiotically pleased look on his face – _his shaved face_ , Jared’s inner voice singled out – as he massaged his reddening chin. He didn't even notice that he'd taken a step forward until James’ tree limb of an arm caught him high across his chest and stopped him in his tracks.

“Get back in the house, little brother,” James said, low and dangerous. In shock, Jared did take a few steps backwards, but never removed his eyes from Jensen’s emerald ones.

As soon as Jared moved, Jensen’s expression faltered and he was scrambling to his feet. “Jared,” he said again, urgently, arm outstretched. Jensen tried to reach him, but James had completely blocked his way.

“Get out of here, _Sheikh_ ,” James sneered and Jared was startled by the vehemence with which he spat Jensen’s title.

“I only want a chance to speak to Jared,” he implored the taller man. “Please,” he added and Jared suspected that must have burned Jensen to have to ask like that.

“You’re not wanted here and there’s no way in hell I would let you speak to Jared,” James said slowly, enunciating every word. Jared, who had been silent up until that moment, cleared his throat and was about to speak when Jensen cut him off.

“I think you will let me speak to him,” he said with a calmness that Jared knew masked a barely concealed anger, “assuming Jared allows it,” he added and surveyed past James’ mountain of a shoulder to meet Jared’s eye then.

“And why is that?” scoffed James.

For a moment, Jensen was quiet, searching for something in Jared’s gaze. When he finally answered James, his voice had lost that dangerous edge to it. “Because if you were to make such unilateral decisions like that _for_ Jared, you would be no better than your fa-” Jensen coughed and corrected, “no better than George.”

And that stopped them all in their tracks. George’s disownment, while hardly surprising, had stung and hearing Jensen correct himself so that he referred to the man by his name and not by a title he no longer wanted, touched Jared in a way he hadn't expected as he struggled to understand the emotions surging in him.

James, apparently, was not unmoved as well. The taller man glanced beyond Jensen to the carriage driver in the drive. “Tell your man he can bring the horses ‘round the back and help himself to all the water and hay his team might want.” The offer was genuine even if the tone was belligerent.

“He’s your mother’s man,” Jensen corrected him kindly, “and I’ll let him know.” Jensen stepped back hesitantly, and Jared thought he was nervous that James’ offer was merely a ruse to get him off the front doormat without incident. When James didn't slam the door after him, he hurried over to the driver and spoke quickly with him. The other man nodded gratefully, helped Jensen with a wrapped bundle and drove his horses around the side of the house, out of sight. Jensen’s return was so quick, Jared almost laughed. He'd never seen Jensen like this – unsure and nervous.

When he was in front of them again, bundle tucked carefully under his arm, he looked from James to Jared hopefully. James’ stance, which had only marginally relaxed, tensed again. “Ask him!” he snapped at Jensen.

“Yes, right,” Jensen stammered. He cleared his throat again and began, “Jared, I wonder if you might spare me a few minutes of your time?”

Stepping up and around James for the first time, his voice was quiet but definite. “I should very much like to hear what you have to say.” It still hadn’t completely settled with Jared yet that Jensen was actually standing directly in front of him. That their encounter wasn’t a version of a dream he had had on more than one occasion over the last, two months.

When he came into full view of Jensen, the older man’s hand slapped against his mouth. For a second, Jared mistook the gesture for one of pain after James’ blow to his face. But, judging by Jensen’s widening eyes, Jared deduced it was his bloated torso that was the cause. He was suddenly embarrassed and fiddled with his shirt, not having bothered with a waistcoat in the comfort of their own home. What a cow he must have looked like to Jensen.

“I know,” he stammered quickly. “I look like the fish that swallowed Jonah, don’t I?” he quipped, ducking his head to let his fringe provide a curtain with which he could hide behind.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Jensen croaked. Jared’s head rose at that declaration. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply and without excess.

Jared began to smile, despite telling himself that Jensen would probably be on his best manners with James as judge, but it faded when said brother snorted at the other man’s proclamation. He was ready to swat at James when he saw Jensen shoot a murderous glare at his big brother. Rather than risk one of the men demanding satisfaction over him, he sought to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

“Won't you come in?” he offered and shuffled to the side to allow Jensen entry. Everything was so surreal. Jensen was actually here in Gosport, like some ordinary, gentleman caller stopping by for a visit.

Without giving James a second glance, Jensen stepped over the threshold, moving to stand beside Jared. He clenched and unclenched his free hand and Jared had the distinct impression that the older man wanted to touch him, but was resisting the urge. He settled for clasping his hands tightly about his small parcel. Not wishing to prolong Jensen’s obvious discomfiture, Jared suggested, “Why don’t you follow me to the music room? It has a lovely view of the gardens and we can catch the last of the sunset from there.”

Not waiting for James to approve or disapprove of his choice, Jared led the way down the hallway to the west portion of the cottage. He tried to calm his heart, but had little success in that. To make matters worse, he was overly conscious of the way he walked these days. Or, to put it bluntly using James’ favorite term, the way he _waddled_. And he was sure Jensen had an unobstructed view of it all.

 _Just perfect_ , he moaned to himself.

Entering the music room had an immediate effect on Jared. While nothing, despite discreetly dragging his hands against his pants, would solve the problem of his sweating palms, the brightly painted room did soothe his nerves. The music room was his favorite place in the entire cottage. The circular space, whose walls were painted warm saffron, was topped with a huge, domed ceiling. The trompe l'œil painting on it was one of blue skies dotted with puffy clouds and butterflies. The room was ringed with windows and French doors, all topped with graceful, Islamic arches. Off to one side was a piano, its ivory keys faded yellow with age. It, like the majority of the furnishings, had belonged to their grandfather. Jared always felt a pang of sadness when he looked at it, since it was a side to the man he would never know, but he was so grateful James had taken the initiative to reconnect with him that he wasn't bitter about his own lost opportunity. George would never have let him meet the man while at that “writers’ college” he was meant to attend.

In the center of the room was ostensibly a dining room table surrounded by chairs. However, Jared realized his misstep a moment too late. Spread all about the table were his copious notes and sketches for the project he had almost immediately delved into once he and James had settled into their new residence. The view had been so appealing to him, he’d claimed the room as his unofficial study as soon he’d stepped inside. Unfortunately, his child wasn’t very accommodating in his efforts to be subtle and Jared miscalculated his girth again, bumping the table with his midsection in his haste to hide his work. A few drawings drifted to the floor, which he tried to bend over and pick up, but was foiled once again by his babe. Jensen nearly leapt at the opportunity to assist him and had gathered the fallen papers before Jared even had a chance to squat. One of the rough watercolors caught his eye, but Jensen said nothing when he handed them back to Jared other than to raise an inquisitive brow.

While he awkwardly attempted to shuffle his papers into order as discretely as he could, Jared tossed over his shoulder, “James, I’m sure that the driver must be hungry. Why don’t you have Gerald brew him some tea and scrounge up a few sandwiches from the kitchen? Would you like something?” he asked Jensen, desperate for something to say and failing miserably at what he wanted to say.

Visibly swallowing, Jensen rasped, “Nothing for me.” His eyes flickered from Jared’s face to his stomach and back to his face again. Unconsciously, Jared placed a protective hand on the large mound of his middle and once again saw such a look of longing in Jensen’s eyes that his heart ached.

“Well, I could do with a cup of tea,” he admitted and then blushed when his stomach gurgled loudly enough for everyone to hear. Even James let out a small chuckle. “And, apparently, a snack for me as well.”

The sweet moment didn't last as James cast an icy stare in Jensen’s direction and seemed unwilling to move.

“Please, James, don't be rude,” Jared snapped. “I’m sure the poor driver is tired and hungry. Don't keep him waiting.” Jared rolled his eyes in exasperation at his older brother’s posturing. “James,” he insisted.

“All right,” the man muttered, “I'm going. But I shall be right back,” he added menacingly to Jensen as if the man was going to ravish Jared the moment he stepped away.

When his brother left, the type of tension within the room shifted. Anger bled away to quiet desperation. Recognizing that the table was a lost cause, Jared motioned to a settee near one of the sets of windows and walked over. When, as an afterthought, he tried to drag a small table in front of it to accommodate the tray his brother would return with, Jared was startled by the hiss of displeasure that slipped from Jensen’s lips.

“Don’t do that,” he ordered Jared, who froze at the command inherent in the tone, before leading him gently by his arm to the small couch to help him sit. That brief touch against his sleeve caused him to shiver and gasp. In surprise, Jared just plopped down and watched as Jensen, after he put his bundle down, efficiently moved the table into place and also procured a nearby chair for himself. Jared was both pleased and saddened that Jensen had chosen to obey proper decorum and not seat himself next to him. The brief touch had been electrifying, as it always was between them. Time and distance hadn't changed that. He was so turned about, not knowing exactly what to say or, more importantly, what to feel. And he couldn't keep his eyes off of the man, marveling at how much younger he appeared without his beard. He found his own fingers itched to touch the strong jaw that was revealed before him, much like he believed Jensen wished to return the favor.

“How did you find me?” was what he blurted out when he was able to tear his eyes off the man, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt instead.

Jensen, who had been staring intently at Jared’s every motion, seemed to come back to himself and he smiled ruefully. “It was a bit of a treasure hunt,” he admitted. “I suppose the joke was on me that when I landed in Southampton, you were so very close. If only I’d known, I could have found you faster.”

“Yes,” Jared murmured, entranced by the way Jensen dragged his hand over his mouth. The rasp of flesh against the stubble of his jaw was unmistakable and Jared trembled at the memory of that rough touch against his own skin. “You can get here by rail via Fareham.” He cursed himself internally for the inanity of that statement, as though Jensen would know or care where Fareham was.

“I suppose that would have saved me some time,” he smiled and the skin around his eyes creased with the expression. “As it was, I ended up taking coaches back and forth between there and London and Somerset like a madman. I crisscrossed this part of the country twice in two days and –”

“Boohoo,” James griped as he entered the room with a full tray. Setting it down and pouring Jared a cup of tea hastily, he shot Jensen a stern glare. “So it took you two days to find Jared? What a hardship! How did you ever survive traveling around a civilized country in the comfort of a cab the entire time?”

“James,” Jared warned, but only gently. He understood what James’ frustration stemmed from.

“No, Jared,” his older brother cut him off even as he added the five lumps of sugar that Jared had started craving since returning. That simple gesture simultaneously warmed his heart and infuriated him by turns. His brother was so attentive since discovering he was pregnant that he scrutinized Jared’s likes and dislikes as if under a microscope. While it mostly made him feel loved, occasionally Jared wondered if he was more of a scientific oddity to his brother, with all of James’ infinite cataloging of his behaviors.

“He doesn't get any medals for finding you so easily. Let him talk if he had had to traverse a barren desert for _weeks_ hoping to find a clue that you were still alive. Let him talk if he had to struggle just to make himself understood while he searched for you.” James paused to take a deep breath and Jared recognized the signs of his brother winding himself up for a tirade of massive proportions. He settled in, prepared to let James have his say, because the man deserved it, and was as taken aback as James when Jensen stopped him cold with one sentence.

“You’re right,” he said quietly.

James huffed and opened his mouth, only to close it right after. He repeated the motion twice more and Jared, despite everything (or because of it), was finding it very hard not to laugh at the fish face he was making.

“Well, all right then,” his older brother pronounced, the wind gone from his sails.

Jared looked from one man to the other, not knowing what to make of the situation. He had expected Jensen to be angry or defensive, not this calm acquiescence. He tried to lean forward to pour Jensen a cup of tea, but it was a ludicrous attempt. James sighed angrily and did it himself, not pleased a whit to have to play the doting host to Jensen, but unwilling to watch his bother flounder in his attempts. Jared did manage to reach one of the plates of sandwiches, thick bread with slabs of roast beef between them and not a watercress one in sight. Bless Gerald, who knew how to feed men with appetites, since they were not women trying to force themselves into corsets to impress their peers or catch the eye of an available suitor. As he selected one, he noted that Jensen was not eating. On closer inspection, Jared thought the man’s suit – one he recognized from when Jensen had been in England before – was ill-fitting, loose about the shoulders in a way it wasn't before. Narrowing his gaze, he took the opportunity to truly study the other man’s face while Jensen sipped his tea obligingly. Without the beard, which was at first the only thing Jared focused on, Jared saw that Jensen’s cheeks were hollower than before and there was the lingering darkness under his eyes that was a telltale sign of restless nights. Jared hadn't appeared much better when he had first been reunited with James, but quickly enough he had taken better care of himself since he had more than his own person depending on him. He’d had to, but it seemed likely Jensen hadn’t given a thought to his own care.

Catching his lower lip between his teeth, he made the effort to push the plate towards Jensen. When the man met his eyes, whatever he saw on Jared’s face made him smile. “Please,” Jared offered, nudging the plate another few inches with his fingers.

James sighed in exasperation, but Jensen didn’t spare him a glance. He only had eyes for Jared. And Jared’s smile returned when the older man selected a sandwich and began to eat it. Jared thought that Jensen might have done it only to humor him, but that was perfectly acceptable for Jared as long as he ate.

“I may as well have one, too,” James grumbled, “before the two of you eat them all.” Jared’s smile deepened. It was the calm before the storm, but Jared relished the few minutes that the only sounds in the room were of the three of them eating.

The setting sun was barely above the horizon, tangerine orange and sinking fast. Jared raised his head to watch as it melted behind the gardens, which were starting to come to life. Spring was determined to spread her fingers through the soil and Jared’s free hand drifted to his stomach as he thought of the life that he would soon bring forth. When he caught himself wool gathering, he turned his attention back to the sandwich plate, but not before noticing how Jensen was watching him. The other man seemed to catch himself as well and turned his head about.

“This place is lovely,” Jensen remarked earnestly.

Desperate to latch onto a smidgen of normalcy, Jared replied, “Thank you. We inherited it from our grandfather.”

“But you probably already know that, seeing how you're here,” James interjected tersely. “And how did you find out? I can't image George was very forthcoming about our whereabouts.”

Although his answer was directed towards James, Jensen kept his gaze fixed on Jared. “No, he wasn't. He only mentioned that…” and Jensen struggled for a moment. “He mentioned that he had no further plans for you thanks to an act of Parliament.” It was a statement, but Jared read the question in Jensen’s verdant eyes.

“I owe my freedom to Parliament,” Jared smirked. It still hurt, but the pain had dulled in the previous month. “They passed the Government of India Act at the end of last year,” he explained when Jensen simply regarded him with a puzzled expression. “Unlike some of the previous ones when the government gave the E.I.C. what they wanted, it seems that the crown is less inclined to let the Directors ride roughshod over the company these days. They still get to govern British India, but the act introduced open competition for the civil servants’ positions. The Directors no longer have their patronage system in place. And without that, there is no way I would have ‘earned’ a spot in the company. George knew my heart wasn't in it. So he was quit of me.”

“Of us,” James added gently.

“Of us,” Jared smiled in return. “And when things seemed their most challenging, we found out our grandfather had passed away while James was abroad,” Jared only stumbled briefly over the word. He was being too polite, referring to James’ search like it was a holiday, but Jared was desperate to hang onto the civility they seemed to be maintaining. “He left us this place and it couldn't have come at a more opportune time, despite the sad circumstances. It turned out the town was in sore need of a doctor and James was in sore need of a position, so all’s well that ends well.”

“Yes,” James chimed in. “All’s well that ends well until you showed up on our doorstep.” Jared shook his head. So much for the peace between them. “Jared might shilly-shally about, but I’ve a mind to make that bruise on your chin part of a matched set. How dare you just barge in on us here! What were you thinking?”

Jensen’s jaw muscle twitched, but he stayed admirably silent. Jared had no idea how he managed it, given his fiery temper, but he didn't think it would last under James’ taunting much longer. “James is right,” Jared interjected, which made his brother grin, “because I would very much like to know what you’re thinking is.”

Jensen drew in a shaky breath, but before he could utter a word, Jared added, “And I believe whatever the reason, it is something that is best discussed privately.”

“What?” James sputtered. “If you think for one minute I'm going to leave you with this man unchaperoned, then I seriously –”

“James,” Jared said smartly as he splayed his long fingers over his stomach, “do you recall how Traci warned you it was unhealthy for the child if I got too distraught? This is turning into one of those situations.”

The other men both wore twin expressions of worry.

“Are you all right? Shall I call round for her?” James offered, instantly contrite.

“No, James, but you can do as I asked. We shall be fine in here alone. I will call for you if anything goes amiss,” he assured his brother kindly.

James stood up, tossing a sour expression at Jensen. “I’ll only be down the hall,” he threatened from the door as he left.

“Thank you,” Jensen said when the other man was gone. It was the first, unsolicited sentence from him since they sat down. “But are you sure you’re all right?” He nodded, indicating their child.

Jared dropped his hand away and couldn't stop the slow grin that crept across his face. “Perfectly fine. Traci, the local midwife, passed along that bit of subterfuge early on in our acquaintance. She said nothing shuts a man up quicker than mentioning it bothered the babe.”

Jensen bounced his head slightly up and down, his full lips turning up at one corner. “Always pulling pranks, aren't you?”

Jared’s smile deepened, dimples coming to the fore. “He makes it so easy sometimes,” he confessed. Then he sobered slightly. “But I wasn’t teasing with you. I should very much like to know why you’ve come all this way and what you hope to gain by it.”

“I-I,” the older man stuttered. He rubbed his hands up and down the length of his strong thighs, before reaching down and retrieving his bundle. While Jared watched, Jensen carefully unwrapped it to reveal items Jared thought no longer existed. He never imagined he’d get to see them again. “I wanted to give these back to you,” Jensen said awkwardly. Moving the tray to one side, Jensen laid out the journal, watch and pencil case. Jared’s hand hovered over them, fingers brushing the lid of the case first, lingering over the ornate script he knew so well.

“You kept them all that time,” he whispered.

“In a drawer in my desk,” he nodded. “I wanted to destroy them when you first arrived, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Even eaten up with thoughts of misplaced revenge, I couldn't do that to you,” Jensen admitted honestly.

Swallowing back tears, Jared murmured, “Misplaced revenge?” _Did Jensen discover the truth?_

“I broke my promise,” Jensen rasped, confirming Jared’s unspoken suspicions, “and read your journal. I would apologize for that breech of privacy, but I’m not sorry I did it in the end. This,” he placed his hand reverently on the worn journal, “showed me how wrong I'd been. This,” he patted the book, “showed me what a reprehensible man I'd been to you. And I could offer you a plethora of excuses to justify why I did what I did, spin you tales that painted me the victim, but, in the end, that’s all they would be – excuses.

“I’ve crossed oceans to find you again to beg for your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it and,” his voice cracked, “if given the chance to do it all again, I would still have kept you. I am by no means contrite about that, nor an honorable man when it comes to wanting you. I wanted you then and I want you now. That will never change. You’re in my blood and under my skin. You’re everything to me and all I have to offer you is my forgiveness. I would throw myself at your feet and beg for mercy.”

To Jared’s horror and amazement, Jensen stood up and pushed the table aside before falling to his knees at Jared’s swollen feet, head bowed. At that instant, their child began to kick up a storm and Jared gasped sharply. Jensen jerked his head up, green eyes glassy and his face pinched with worry and fear at the outburst. Jared grabbed for his hands and pressed them against his torso, unable to speak but wanting him to feel their child. Jensen’s eyes rounded wide in amazement and then impossibly softened. He pressed gently against the spot where their babe was the most active and Jared smiled through his tears as he felt the child kick back.

“The babe is saying hello,” he realized, because the child had never responded to anyone else's touch no matter how quickly Jared would drag James’ or Traci’s hand to the area where there was movement. It would stop the instant another hand touched Jared’s belly.

Jensen leaned forward ever so slowly, as though he was prepared to stop if Jared voiced the slightest objection, and placed a kiss against Jared’s stomach when no such objection was forthcoming. “Hello, little one,” he breathed against Jared. “I’ve been so anxious to meet you,” he croaked, twisting his face to the side and nuzzling there.

Jared peered down at that dark-blond head pressed against his side and slid his fingers through the short tresses without a second thought. For the first time since coming back to England, he was completely at peace. He realized that with Jensen’s forgiveness and his very presence, he had everything he wanted. As he dragged his fingernails along Jensen’s scalp, the older man shuddered against him. Raising his head, Jensen regarded him with watery eyes and Jared smiled back, rubbing his thumb along the uninjured side of his jaw.

“Marry me,” Jensen whispered.

Jared’s hand froze. “What?”

“Marry me,” Jensen repeated, firmer the second time around.

Jared’s heart tripped and stuttered within his chest. The baby grew still, as if wanting to know the answer, too. “Is it because of the child? Because you don’t want it to be born a bastard?” The question hurt to ask, but Jared needed to know the truth. He had resigned himself to his child’s illegitimacy and was quite fortunate that not many in the town had looked too unkindly towards him over his situation.

“It’s true,” Jensen said after a moment’s deliberation, “that I didn't want the child to be born –”

“A bastard,” Jared finished for him, jerkily bobbing his head up and down. He had no idea why that should make him so incredibly sad. It was a noble and honorable thing Jensen was proposing, but he had hoped for so much more.

“Without me in their life,” Jensen corrected him with a touch of sternness back in his voice. “But I want to wed you regardless.”

“Oh,” Jared exhaled. He studied the man at his feet sincerely and weighed the question in his mind. Like Jensen, he could list reasons why it was unwise to accept, but they would also be excuses. His heart couldn't refuse the man, nor did he want to. But there were harsh realities to face and he wasn’t only himself any longer. There was the child to consider.

“I can't go back there,” he replied softly, hand still resting on the side of Jensen’s face.

Jensen did something unexpected then – he smiled. “Neither can I,” he answered and turned his head to place a gentle kiss on Jared’s palm.

Crinkling his forehead, Jared couldn't decipher what that meant. Jensen chuckled wetly and smoothed his thumb along the frown lines on Jared’s face. “I abdicated,” he explained.

“What?” Jared rasped, mouth falling open.

“I gave it all away, even the horses,” he whispered.

“What?” Jared repeated himself dumbly.

Placing his hand back along Jared’s stomach – now that he had permission, Jensen couldn't get enough of touching their baby – opposite the other to cradle their child as best he could, Jensen continued. “I was never eager for it, ‘tis true enough. But when I realized that I’d fallen in love with the bratty, little brother of my roommate, I never wanted to return.”

“I-I don't understand,” Jared faltered. He had been so sure that when Jensen meant to propose before that he would have had to return with him to Qatar and forge some kind of life for himself there. “How were you ever…oof,” he huffed when their babe gave him an unusually strong kick.

“I think our child doesn't want you to interrupt me,” Jensen joked wryly, stroking along the sides of Jared’s body and sure enough, the child stilled.

Despite Jared’s put upon expression, he was secretly thrilled that there was this connection between the babe and its father.

“I never wanted to bring you back to that life, Jared,” he said solemnly. “I had secured a plot of land and a house for us. Well, I had the land and the house was under construction at the time. It's finished now, though. And I had monies set aside. It was meant to be a fresh start for us both.”

“How?” Jared mumbled.

“Do you remember the party at Sir William's estate?” Jensen asked him, head tilted.

“The Pharo game,” he replied with dawning awareness.

“How did you know?” the older man asked him, clearly surprised.

“I might have slipped in after you,” Jared confessed, blood rising to his face as he recalled how he couldn't keep his eyes off of his brother’s roommate that night and had trailed after him like a lost pup.

“You’re irresistible when you blush,” Jensen said lowly and there was no disguising the heat in those words. Of course, that announcement only made Jared do so more furiously. He ducked his head, trying to hide his face from Jensen, but the other man chucked him under his chin.

“Please don't hide from me any longer,” Jensen entreated.

Jared licked his lips nervously and shook his head, fringe shimmying from side to side. Jensen shifted his thumb so that it dragged along Jared’s lower lip and he shivered at the familiar touch of that calloused digit as the rough skin caught at his tender flesh.

“So pretty,” Jensen said under his breath before saying more loudly, “I was prepared back then to let it all go. And after what happened between us,” he paused, searching for words. “After what I did to you, took from you there, I would never have asked you to return with me.” He lowered his head again.

Jared swallowed past the lump in his throat. He knew what Jensen was referring to. Although parts were still dreamlike, the first night they’d shared together had been less than ideal. He understood that the concoction Alaina had tricked him into drinking was designed to loosen his inhibitions, which it had. However, after their time at the beach, Jared had come to recognize some things about his own nature. There was a carnal side to him that only Jensen brought out and he didn't want the man to harbor punishing thoughts over the wrong crime.

“I wanted you then,” he exhaled nervously.

“Because of the drink,” Jensen mumbled sadly.

“The drink only magnified my desires, but they had been there from the first time I saw you, I think. I simply didn't know myself well enough then to recognize that. But,” he added reproachfully, “how you treated me after was…” Walking back to the seraglio like that, torn clothes and covered in both their seed had been humiliating, as Jensen had wanted.

“Deplorable,” Jensen choked out.

“You meant to punish me,” Jared agreed weakly. “And you did. For that, I would demand your apology. As for the first part, neither of us was completely innocent, nor completely guilty. There were certain aspects of that night that…thrilled me,” he admitted so quietly he wasn't initially certain that Jensen had heard him. He wanted to say he had hated it all, but what he remembered had been undeniably erotic and he was almost ashamed of the way he’d enjoyed submitting to the older man, giving himself over entirely to Jensen’s ministrations. In that instance, whatever drug was within the liquor had multiplied his desires, but hadn’t forged false ones; they’d been there all along. And he believed, as mortified as he was by the admission, that Jensen should know the truth.

When he dared to meet Jensen’s gaze, he shivered at the dark desire he saw smoldering there. “I am sorry for how I humiliated you,” he apologized. His voice dipped lower then, rumbling deeply in his chest. “I still think on that night, too, but when I do, you are completely willing in my dreams and it is surprisingly more wanton for that willingness.”

“Jensen,” Jared breathed. “That’s hardly proper talk.”

“Still true, though,” he smirked and Jared was reminded of the cocky, strong man he had fallen in love with in that second.

“We’d never return?” Jared asked hesitantly.

Jensen’s grin faded. “I wouldn't do that to you.” He lovingly caressed the hard mound of Jared’s stomach, “And I wouldn't do it to this little one. They'd have no life there, Jared. Their course would already be plotted out as someone to lead or someone to be married off for political gain. I would have them have a choice in their life. We all deserve choices, Jared,” he said with such sincerity that Jared had to blink back unexpected tears. “I have been given many things in my life, dear heart, but you are the only thing I have ever wanted.”

Jared swallowed thickly. “Ask me again,” he suggested.

Jensen’s smile lit up the darkening gloom. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. Jared’s face fell, unsure why he had abruptly changed his mind. Jensen didn't notice, however, as he removed his hands from Jared’s midriff and rooted around in his coat pocket until he crowed an “ah hah”. He looked back up with something that glittered in the last of the day’s light – a golden ring. The older man shifted his position, rising up on one knee.

“Jared Tristan Padalecki, will you marry me?”

Jared tilted his head, his entire face a becoming shade of petal pink, and smiled demurely. “Yes, I will,” he answered, yielding but sure. His breath caught as Jensen slipped the ring on his hand, the fit a touch snug but mostly just perfect. A multitude of gems circled the band and winked like the stones within a kaleidoscope.

“May I kiss you now, Jared? Because I think I’ll die from wanting if you refuse me,” he husked, deep and determined.

“Oh, please,” Jared nearly moaned.

Jensen got off the floor and sat down beside Jared, capturing his face between hands still warm from their babe. His weight made the settee sag and Jared tumbled into him slightly and he may have just allowed that to happen a teeny bit. Jensen leaned closer, tugging Jared in slightly as he combed his left hand through Jared’s hair to cradle the back of his skull while dropping the other to the swell of their child. Jared’s gaze flickered between the smoldering green fire that was Jensen’s, his breathing quick and irregular.

“Jensen,” Jared pleaded, not embarrassed a whit at the breathless whimper it was.

“Shh,” Jensen soothed, leaning incrementally closer and Jared couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation. As his tongue darted out, he saw the way Jensen tracked the motion like a predator his prey. When their faces were so close that Jared was near cross-eyed trying to keep Jensen in focus, the older man breathed, “I love you”.

As Jared’s lips parted in pleased surprise, Jensen swooped in, pressing his full lips against Jared's, tongue teasing at the opening his tender declaration had elicited. Jared’s hands snaked up as if of their own accord to clasp at his shirtfront and pulled him closer still. Jared was hardly aware of the way Jensen shifted around as he was lowered down against the pillows at the end of the settee. All he knew was the warm slide of Jensen’s tongue against his and the way they twirled about as Jensen licked his way deeper and deeper inside his mouth like the man was desperate to relearn his taste. When they finally broke apart, Jared was panting for breath. Jensen loomed over him protectively, legs arranged so as to not press unduly against his midsection. Jared loosened the severe grip he had on Jensen’s shirtfront, slipping his hands up to wrap around Jensen’s neck and play with the fine hairs at his nape. There was hardly any light left, save the sparkle from the emeralds above him. But it was all that he needed.

“I love you, too,” he said before pulling Jensen down into another, heated kiss and the rest of the world faded blissfully away.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another repeated warning since I know that some of you who are reading this aren't mpreg fans...there's mpreg in this chapter, although nothing too graphic in detail.

_ _

_September 7 th, 1854_

_Gosport, Near Portsmouth_

A happy squeal echoed around the room. “Ba-ba,” came the tiny voice. “Bababa,” it went on and on, interspersed between wet chuckles. Jared leaned against the doorway, unnoticed by the two in the sunshine-yellow room.

“Do you like it?” Jensen said softly. Seated on the floor, leaning against the settee, he held up a small necklace, twirling it around to catch the afternoon light barely out of reach of two very interested, clutching hands. The sun caught on the mother-of-pearl, making the unevenly sized pieces that were set in gold and linked together, shine with all the color of the rainbow. Determined, chubby hands opened and closed greedily, but couldn't latch onto it.

“Your mama says it’s too big for you to wear right now, but there’s no reason you can’t play with it,” Jensen justified his logic to his daughter. “It is yours, after all.”

The tiny child nestled in the “v” of his powerful legs babbled in agreement, her arms waving up and down so fast, Jared thought their baby girl was trying to take flight. Her rapid motion caused her to overbalance and she tumbled forward. Jensen’s other hand, which had been at her back, wrapped around her tummy and kept her from landing on her face. She smacked her hands on the tile floor as if it was to blame for her predicament and looked up at her father with blue eyes that Jensen swore, with no little smugness, were becoming greener with every day that passed.

Jared watched as Jensen, with infinite gentleness, stroked their daughter’s delicate skull, which was covered in the faintest dusting of blonde hairs – another, smug win for Jensen. He let his head fall against the doorframe, content to simply be a witness to the tender moment between father and daughter.

“These,” Jensen explained as he dangled the necklace tantalizingly closer, “used to belong to your grandmother. When I was a little boy, I wanted to play with them, too, but she stopped me. I guess it's a parent’s lot in life to ruin all the fun things children can get into,” he sighed. “Still, if no one else is around to see…” and he looked about the room quickly. Jared barely managed to duck out of sight. “What they don't know won’t hurt them.”

Jared peered back in time to see Jensen lower the necklace around her neck. His husband had had it made especially for their child out of the broken fragments that he had kept from his mother’s cabinet back in Qatar.

“Ba-ba,” she gurgled, nearly bald pate drooping as she tried to focus on the object of her current desire, which was now draped across her chest over her lacy, ivory dress. Jensen kept both hands at the ready to rescue the necklace should their nearly six-month-old baby decide that it might taste as good as it looked. But she was content to pat at it where it lay. And as she did so, she straightened up on her own for the very first time and sat completely unaided.

“Well, look at you,” Jensen breathed. “Aren’t you full of surprises?” he marveled, completely enthralled by the momentous feat she had performed.

Jared chortled quietly. That summed up Aibhlinn perfectly – full of surprises since the day she took her first breath.

 

_“Are you certain, James?” Jared asked nervously._

_“It's a little late now for second thoughts, don’t you think?” his older brother quipped._

_“I could come up with something else,” Jared groused, hand against his prodigious belly._

_“Right,” James drawled as he twisted his head from one side to the other, making a show of taking in the simple, bare chamber. They were in a small side room at St. Mary’s. The small church in Alverstoke Village had been able to accommodate them in their hastily set wedding plans without too much of an uproar, partly because late March was a rather unpopular month to be wed, what with the guaranteed rain that was sure to fall and the chill which spring had yet to completely banish, and partly because of the calendar. The clergyman was able to read the banns in church on the three consecutive Sundays prior to the wedding, as the Marriage Act stipulated since Jared was not yet twenty-one. At the end of the 5 th, 12th and 19th, although he was certain there would be no objections, Jared had still breathed easier after each one passed without protest and the wedding had been set for the 29th._

_Jared had decided not to invite his mother. He and James had gone on about it for a while. James hadn't really been too keen on having her, either, but argued – and Traci insisted James lived to argue – that if Jared could forgive Jensen enough to accept his proposal, why couldn’t Jared forgive their mother enough to invite her? Jared had patiently explained that while, yes, their mother had made some thoughtful overtures in the preceding months, she had also been George’s silent accomplice the entire time Jared had been forced to wear that horrible belt for a condition he didn't suffer from. Furthermore, she had also kept the secret from Jared about his own person. That was years of deceit balanced against Jensen’s actions. They simply weren't the same thing. Over time, Jared had assured him, he would more than likely shape some kind of relationship with her, if only for his child’s benefit, but that time had not yet arrived. James had agreed and let the matter drop._

_“I don’t think you’ll find a suitable replacement in here, Gigglemug,” James teased him._

_“I could come up with something,” Jared insisted. “I know that you aren't completely settled with the idea of my marriage to Jensen,” he added thoughtfully._

_James stiffened and pursed his lips sourly. “That’s true,” he admitted and Jared knew it was. The day Jensen had come back into Jared’s life had been a rigid, awkward affair that had begun with a physical altercation and practically ended in one, too, when James had walked in on them not more than a few minutes after he and Jensen had passionately reconciled. Jared’s tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips had apparently given him away and another round of fisticuffs had been a near thing. Only Jared’s stern warning that James was not to lay a hand on his future husband had stopped James cold in his tracks. The man had stood there, seething silently before stalking off. But bloodshed had been averted. And, after nearly a week of cold silence whenever it was the three of them in a room together (Jared had insisted that Jensen be put up in the guest room, which James had agreed to with the caveat that if any nonsense was afoot, he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions), James had finally approached Jared when he was alone and had unceremoniously shoved a ring into his hand. That was the moment when Jared knew James would eventually forgive Jensen, too._

_“This is our grandfather’s ring,” Jared continued as he flipped the solid gold band around in the palm of his hand. There was a single emerald chip set within the heavy circle, making it a fitting match to the one Jensen had commissioned for him. “I would understand if you’d changed your mind.”_

_“Not going to happen, little brother,” James grunted. “I may not see eye to eye with Jensen,” he paused and Jared appreciated that today of all days he referred to Jensen by his given name, “but I’d be a fool not to know that what you have between you is forever. And despite what that woman says,” he added more lightly, “I am no fool.”_

_Jared smiled slow and wide. “You should consider making ‘that woman’ an honest one,” Jared teased as was his right as the younger sibling._

_James sputtered at that. Clapping Jared on his shoulder, he replied, “Let’s just see if we can survive this wedding before you go off planning another, all right?”_

_Jared nodded nervously, wincing as James helped him on with his coat. The tailor had barely had enough time to make him a suit that was passing fair for the occasion and he had needed another panel added to his trousers. James, smartly enough, hadn't made a quip about it. But as he struggled to button it, he stifled a small groan at the twinge that stabbed along his spine. The last three months had been hard on his body, especially his back, but this morning it had been notably uncomfortable bordering on painful. His distress did not go unnoticed._

_“All right there, little man?” James asked solicitously. “Not having second thoughts? Because if you are I can bustle you right out the side entrance and we’d be gone before he had a chance to notice.”_

_Jared chuckled and slapped James on his forearm. “You’re lucky that I know you said that in jest. Just a touch of nerves, like anyone on their wedding day,” he assured James. He took several, fortifying breaths, enjoying the tangy breeze from Stokes Bay, not half a mile from the church. That seemed to do the trick and the pains that had rippled along the length of his back and sides subsided. He caressed his middle, believing their child was excited as he was._

_When it was time, James led Jared out of the room and down the aisle to the altar, where Traci, Jensen, the clergyman and the parish clerk waited patiently. But Jared only had eyes for his future husband. Dressed in the charcoal-grey suit he had worn on that ill-fated day, Jensen had on a forest green waistcoat with a pure white stock spilling out from beneath his chin. He would have appeared almost somber in the attire if it hadn't been for the blinding grin he sported. Jared returned the smile, fiddling with his matching green cravat. He had “borrowed” the silk tie from Jensen to compliment his waistcoat and to help fulfill the foolish rhyme Traci had recited, insistently stating it needed to be followed to the letter. In fact, beneath his shirtsleeve, he wore a blue ribbon that she had hastily yanked out of her own hair and tied about him when she saw he had nothing blue. At her urging, James had handed over a silver sixpence and instructed Jared to slip the coin into his left shoe. She'd been most particular about it being the left one and rather than argue with her about it, he'd obediently slipped it in even though faffing about with shoes was extremely difficult what with his distended middle and swollen feet. It was far less painful than disobeying the Scottish woman would be._

_Jared barely heard the words uttered by the officiant. His heart was beating loudly enough that he suspected they all heard it echoing off the cold stones of the church walls. Their child was blessedly still for the solemn occasion, as if listening intently to the proceedings. Jared found his thoughts drifting back and forth sifting through his memories of his time with Jensen, both the good and the ill, and he had no doubts about his decision to accept Jensen’s proposal. Theirs had not been an easy course, but he knew it was a true one and he would gladly face whatever came before them as long as they could face it together._

_There was a muffled giggle from Traci and Jared looked about to see Jensen, expectant and anxious, holding out the beautiful ring he had made for him. Jared raised his hand quickly, blushing furiously at his wool gathering at such an inappropriate time, and something settled within him as the cool metal was pushed into place on his finger. Jensen held out his hand as the clergyman bade him repeat the vows that Jared had absently agreed to. Jared retrieved his grandfather’s ring and held it out, pleased at Jensen’s obvious approval of it as the other man’s eyes widen slightly when he saw it. With trembling hands, Jared placed the ring on Jensen’s finger at the appropriate time and the officiant pronounced them married._

_Jensen stepped in close, catching Jared’s nape with one hand and tugging his head down as he pressed a mostly chaste kiss to his lips, all the while stroking Jared’s stomach with the other hand. Jared sighed happily into it, despite the fact that their child was no longer still. When he and Jensen broke apart to follow the parish clerk to the vestry where they would sign the registry, Jared shifted about, hoping an adjustment in his position would stop the pains he felt, which had now spread to his legs. He suspected they ached from a combination of nerves and all the time he had been standing up that morning without a pause. His adjustments did not go unnoticed._

_He’d barely finished signing “Padalecki” – the last time he would ever use that name – into the registry when Traci cornered him. “What’s amiss, laddie?” she had asked with surprising gentleness. Jared figured her subdued manner was due to their present location._

_“Nothing,” he murmured, watching Jensen take pen to the parish registry, making their union legally official. Jared kept a hand on his side and twisted about, hoping to ease some of the discomfort he continued to suffer from. There was still the wedding breakfast to get through, but he told himself at least then he would be seated. It would surely be easier to pass the rest of the morning that way._

_“Is the wee one troubling you?” Traci persisted._

_“A touch more than usual,” Jared admitted. He found out soon enough it was better to be completely honest with the observant woman rather than prevaricate. “Usually, the child settles down once I'm up and about, but today the little one is quite the spitfire no matter what I do.”_

_Traci studied him closely. “And shifting about doesn't ease the pains?”_

_“Not today,” Jared replied absently, watching in pleased amazement as James offered his hand to Jensen. He winced even as Jensen and James shook hands like gentlemen. A stronger-than-usual pain coursed down his lower back and legs._

_“This babe is very insistent to make itself known today,” he chuckled weakly, after the throbbing had abated. The pains were coming in waves over the previous hours and Jared sincerely hoped he would be able to make it through the entire breakfast without being ill._

_Traci clutched at his elbow and said loudly enough for their entire wedding party to hear, “The babe means to say ‘hello’ today.”_

_Jensen and James froze in mid-pump of their hands, while the clerk ducked his head to study his ledger and the clergyman – face cherry-red – excused himself from the proceedings, mumbling that his work was done in the nick of time._

_Seeing as how all the men were in a stupor, Traci took immediate charge, ordering James to bring the carriage round while she and Jensen each stood on one side of Jared, in case he needed the physical support, and escorted him out of the church. For his part, Jared was rather nonplussed about the whole affair, finding it hard to wrap his mind around the fact that his and Jensen’s child’s arrival was imminent._

_“Imminent” turned out to be a bit of a misnomer. Jared was still in the throes of labor by the time the cock crowed a new day. For over twenty hours, he struggled to bring their child into the world. The process had been benign at first, and Jared appreciated the way that Jensen had doted on him then. They all arrived back at the cottage without issue and Traci had gotten Jared established in his room quickly enough. Jared insisted that he was comfortable and they shouldn’t let the wedding breakfast go to waste. The others ducked in and out while they did eat, as Traci reminded them they would need to keep their strength up as well. The first sign that Jared was not as accepting as he had tried to lead them to believe was when Jensen tried to feed him some of the wedding ham._

_“I'm not a bloody invalid,” he’d snapped and then was contrite in the next second. “I-I am sorry, Jensen.” Turning about in the bed, he added, “I simply can’t find a comfortable position to rest in. It’s that that makes me irritable.”_

_“That’s all right, love,” the other man's assured him. “Would you like me to try and help settle you?”_

_“You try and settle when you’re this big,” Jared hissed the minute Jensen put his hands on him, slapping away the touch._

_“Jensen, I think it might be for the best if you step out for a while,” Traci suggested with no little amusement. “This really isn’t the place for you.”_

_Jensen shot her an incredulous look. “Not the place for me? I don't see why not. It can’t be that much different than when horses foal and I’m quite competent in that regard,” he pointed out sensibly and then looked to Jared for obvious confirmation over his impeccable reasoning._

_Jared smiled sweetly and said, “Jensen?”_

_“Yes, love?”_

_“Jensen,” he continued, voice rising with each word, “unless you’ve ever pulled a foal out from between your own legs, get out!”_

_James sniggered from where he stood off to the side as Jensen’s mouth fell open._

_“You, too!” Jared added loudly, glaring daggers at his older brother._

_“But, Jared,” James wheedled, “this is an opportunity for me to witness my first birth. Think about all that I can learn…”_

_“I'm not a bloody experiment, James. I'm your brother and I want you out!”_

_“You heard him, gentlemen,” Traci piped up. Her obvious delight was clear in her tone. “Out you go,” she shooed them off, one hand on each of their shoulders to hurry along their exit._

_Over the course of the day and through the night, the Scottish woman kept the men apprised of Jared’s condition at his chagrined insistence and assured them both that the first time was often a long, drawn out affair and nothing appeared amiss to her. When the first, transient light of false dawn cut though the darkness, Jared knew he was close._

_“Get Jensen,” he whispered to the midwife. His voice was shot with the strain of his pained efforts from the last, few hours._

_From where she was situated, she peered around his legs and argued, “I don’t think now is the best time for him – ”_

_“Now is the only time,” he grated out. “Get Jensen.”_

_Traci decided not to argue. She covered him partially and left only to return a scant moment later with Jensen in hot pursuit. Jared blinked back sweat and tears as he noticed how disheveled the other man appeared. He’d foregone his stock and coat, waistcoat unbuttoned and hanging open and his hair was askew, sticking up in all directions._

_“Jared,” he said softly, without a hint of displeasure over his previous exile, and slid in beside him without hesitation. He wrapped a strong hand around Jared’s heaving shoulders and offered his other for him to grab ahold of. Jared squeezed it for all he was worth._

_Traci resumed her earlier position. “Now that the parlor games are done and we’ve all got a seat, let’s bring this child into the world.”_

_Not a half hour later, a healthy squalling filled the room as Jared collapsed back into Jensen’s arms. “You did it,” Jensen whispered into his ear, blotting Jared’s damp brow with a cloth._

_Jared blinked tired eyes at his husband and replied softly, “We did it.”_

_As Jensen pressed a kiss to Jared’s brow, the younger man asked tiredly, “Is everything –”_

_Traci, who had whisked the child away to rub it down briskly, tossed over her shoulder, “Your wee lassie is pink and perfect – ten finger and ten toes.”_

_“A girl,” Jared breathed, looking up at Jensen._

_“A girl,” the older man repeated, face soft and full of delight. “A little girl.”_

_The exhausted midwife returned to the men with the carefully wrapped and surprisingly quiet bundle, handing her off to Jared, who was eager to hold her. “’Thursday’s child has far to go’,” she quoted another rhyme quietly while she cleaned Jared up as discreetly as she could while the two men admired their daughter. “I’ll just let James know to get the wet nurse,” she added gently when she’d finished and stepped out to give the new family some time alone._

_Jensen kept one hand curled possessively around Jared’s shoulders, while he traced one finger down the delicate profile of their daughter._

_“She has your nose,” he declared in a low voice._

_“How can you tell?” Jared laughed, although it was almost closer to a sob. He couldn't believe that he was finally holding their child – their daughter – in his arms. A few tears spilled, one landing with a plop on her downy cheek, which the baby seemed not to notice. Her blue eyes filled her up whole face and she stared at the men that hovered over her, tiny mouth opening and closing while her minuscule tongue pushed out of her rosebud mouth._

_“The only thing I'm certain of is that she doesn't have my hair,” he added and it was Jensen’s turn to chuckle._

_“Jared, she doesn't have anyone’s hair,” he pointed out, using two of his fingers to brush against her very bald skull._

_“See? I'm right then,” he murmured, slowly rocking the little miracle in his arms._

_“What do you think we should call her?” his husband asked him, unable to tear his eyes off of the life they had created. “You said you had something in mind?”_

_Jared did. He’d chosen names for a boy and a girl not long after he’d returned to England, but had withheld speaking about it until the child was born for fear of somehow bringing misfortune down upon them by uttering a name before the babe’s arrival. It was ridiculously superstitious, but Jared couldn’t help himself. Jensen had been very understanding and hadn't mentioned the topic again until now._

_Rather mesmerized by the way their daughter stretched open her mouth in a heartfelt yawn, Jared confessed, “I fancy Aibhlinn.”_

_Jensen stopped his rhythmic stroking of their daughter’s head and stared at Jared. “That-that’s an Irish name, Jared,” he breathed and the younger man thought he sounded suspiciously close to tears himself._

_“I know,” he smiled tiredly. He was suddenly overcome with exhaustion and found himself sinking back into Jensen’s hold gratefully. “But it fits. Your mother would have liked it, don't you think?” He was struggling to stay awake, glad that Jensen had tightened his grip on their daughter so that he could relax further._

_The last thing he heard before drifting off to sleep was Jensen murmuring to their daughter, who was also blinking sleepily. “’Longed for child’ is perfect. It's exactly what she is.”_

“Ah, ah,” Jensen tutted as he gently worked free the portion of the necklace that Aibhlinn had manage to stick in her mouth out. “That’s not a sweet, my sweet,” he teased gently as she blinked her big eyes up at him. Jared had to bite his lip at the way Jensen’s expression melted before their daughter. She already had him twisted about her tiny finger. Something told him Jensen would always thaw for those plaintive eyes.

“Someone’s hungry,” he announced from his hiding spot, walking into the music room with her bottle in hand. He couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out as both father and daughter turned their heads in unison when he spoke, one in delight and the other somewhat abashed at being caught out.

“Mamamama,” their baby babbled cheerfully, the necklace already forgotten as she flapped her chubby arms around.

Jared dropped down onto the floor, leaning back against the settee as Jensen scrambled to undo the necklace from their wriggling fish of a daughter. For her part, Aibhlinn had pitched forward, determined to crawl to Jared and her lunch.

“Worry about it later, Jensen,” Jared told his husband, “as it’s too late to hide the evidence now.” The older man ducked his head in embarrassment. “Look how elegant you are,” he cooed to Aibhlinn. “Like royalty.” He hoisted her up into his arms and nuzzled her face with his own. She giggled and bumped her wet, open mouth against his cheek and Jared secretly counted it as a kiss. “Hungry, princess?” he asked her and held up the bottle. He adjusted his grip so she was mostly sitting up and helped her hold the bottle against her chest as she drank the warm milk. Jensen moved closer, leaning against his shoulder, peering down at the way their girl devoured her lunch while he stroked her head.

“I’m so glad that James found a way to make this possible,” Jensen whispered.

Jared nearly snorted at how careful Jensen was not to disturb Aibhlinn. A cow could probably wander through the room mooing the entire time and she wouldn’t be distracted. She approached eating very seriously. But he, too, appreciated the deft way James had come up with a solution to something Jared hadn’t expected would bother him, but had a great deal.

Almost a week after the baby’s birth, Jared had grown morose. It wasn’t a constant thing, but came in fits and starts. It only took Jensen a few days to notice and then determine that it was when the wet nurse they’d hired from town fed the baby that Jared was particularly glum. Carriers did not produce milk like most female mothers did. And that was one of the biggest indicators in the “intellectual” community for those that contended that carriers were an aberration of nature. The argument went that if men were truly designed to have children, then they would be able to feed said children as well. While the enlightened scientists pointed out that many women were unable to produce milk for their offspring, the counter claim was that those women were also an aberration and not the norm. Carriers tended to hire wet nurses or ask family members if they couldn’t afford a nurse.

Unbeknownst to Jared, Jensen had spoken to James and his brother had departed a few days later for London, ostensibly for some medical equipment he said his practice was in sore need of. When he returned, he had conferred with the wet nurse, who was most sympathetic to Jared’s situation and had agreed to the change in plans. Both men came into Jared’s bedroom. Jensen handed Jared Aibhlinn and James had placed a teardrop shaped bottle with a skinny tube that stuck out of the stopper in the perplexed mother’s free hand. The bottle was full of warm milk.

“Go ahead and feed her, love,” Jensen had urged him.

Shocked, Jared had teased the baby’s mouth with the bulbous end of the tube and, after more than a handful of false starts that had them both nearly crying in frustration, Aibhlinn discovered how to suck the milk from the bottle and was feeding away contentedly. On the verge of joyful tears, Jared hugged her close. That was what he had been missing without knowing it – the simple act of being able to feed his child.

When Jared was finally able to tear his eyes away from his suckling infant, all he managed to say was, “How?”

James smirked and explained that he had procured several bottles and a pewter breast pump from Mr. Weedon’s Bloomsbury Square shop in London. The syringe-like pumps were not unheard of as women often needed to remove milk in an alternate manner than traditional feeding for a variety of health concerns. And, although James had researched out a few formulas for an adequate food substitute, Traci had insisted “breast was best” for the “wee bairn”. Best of all, the wet nurse was able to extract enough milk for them to have several days’ worth in advance, which they stored in the ice chest. Jensen gladly assumed an active role in helping to feed their daughter, relieving Jared from the times in the middle of the night when their babe was hungry. And Jared found his lying in was cut considerably short thanks to the rest he received from their schedule. It’s true he could have slept through the prior, late feedings with the wet nurse, but he always woke and was awash in guilt and longing when he heard her attend to their child when he couldn’t. However, Jared was able to sleep deeply through the night knowing it was Jensen who cared for her.

“Such a formal diner you are,” he teased, mostly for Jensen’s sake over his gift, “despite being such a piglet.”

“Here now, don’t disparage my daughter,” Jensen defended with mock sternness, plucking her out of Jared’s grasp. His fond smile grew sour once he got a whiff of her. She decidedly did not smell of roses.

Jared laughed and jumped to his feet. “I’ll attend to cleaning the bottle while you attend to cleaning ‘your’ daughter,” he smirked, halfway out the door. Jensen’s grumblings followed him all the way down the hall, which Jared gleefully ignored.

By the time Jared was finished, as he’d been very thorough and meticulous in his cleaning of Aibhlinn’s bottle, Jensen had changed their daughter and put her down for her afternoon nap. As he passed by their bedroom, he caught a few refrains of the lullaby Jensen sang to her.

_“Gile mear sa seal faoi chumha_

_Gus Éire go léir faoi chlocaí dhubha_

_Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin_

_Ó luadh i gcéin mo ghile mear.”_

Jared smiled wistfully at the sad lyrics of Ireland – personified as a woman in a black cloak – missing her Bonnie Prince Charlie. He understood snatches of it as Jensen had sung it to him in English once. But they had decided almost from the start that they would expose their daughter to all the languages of her heritage despite what some might think. As Jared returned to the music room, he sighed as he sat down at his “desk”, pushing aside the day’s post, which included the latest copy of _Punch_ , in disgust. While noble in thought, in practice, embracing her Irish roots meant facing the acidic racism against the “Paddies” that was currently running rampant throughout the country. It wasn't the first time that Jared had second thoughts about not only raising her that way, but about raising her in England itself.

Without deliberate thought, he pulled the threepenny paper back and flipped through it. Sure enough, another of Tenniel’s “satirical” drawings graced the page. An Irishman with decidedly ape-like features was once again the subject of his twisted humor, looking brutish and disorderly before the aristocratic, human British citizen. Jared had been quite disillusioned when he had found out that Dickens was now also a member of the illustrious “ _Punch_ Brotherhood” that persisted in these hateful attacks against the Irish. The blush was definitely off the peach for him and he hadn't bothered to finish reading _Bleak House_ after that, no longer able to separate the words of the man from his public actions. And he still remembered as if it was yesterday the run-in he and Jensen had had two months ago while out and about with their daughter in Gosport.

Since transportation was much improved, many of the ton had flocked to the coast for their summer holidays. The thought hadn't even crossed Jared’s mind that they might eventually cross paths with anyone remotely associated with his father, but he should have known better. As they strolled down by the ferry, past the market house, and took advantage of the gas lit streets which made evening constitutionals pleasant, a rather well-healed man and his wife paused as they walked by. The wife leaned down and sing-songed sweetly at Aibhlinn in her carriage, while her husband glanced every way but at them, bored by what must have been a usual custom of his wife when she came across an infant. However, when he did spare a glance at Jared, he tilted his head and then slowly grinned in recognition. The man was a business associate of Jared’s father and, considering the way his smile contained no trace of goodwill, Jared braced for the inevitable slur against him. He was by no means prepared for what the man actually said.

“Jonathan, don’t you think she’s adorable?” his wife pestered him.

Without sparing Aibhlinn a glimpse, the man looked directly at Jared and replied, “For a little, white monkey, I suppose. Is she even legitimate?”

His wife brought her hand up to her mouth in shock, but whether it was over her husband’s rudeness or the accusations themselves, Jared had no way of knowing, nor any desire to loiter about and discover which it was. Jensen had tensed up and it was only Jared’s hand on his arm that kept his husband in check. Jared abruptly pushed the pram hurriedly down the street, tugging Jensen along with them, eager to literally put it all behind them.

And thinly veiled slurs weren't the only reminders of the prevailing, English sentiment. As Gosport grew at a rather rapid rate, a variety of shops advertised positions available.  But nearly all of them prominently displayed “No Irish Need Apply” signs in their windows.  And that sentiment wasn't unusual. Since the Great Hunger, thousands upon thousands of impoverished Irish had immigrated into England, unable to afford to go anywhere else. In Liverpool alone nearly one quarter of the city’s population was Irish. Because most had fled for reasons of poverty, they initially relied on assistance from English charities and government funds, which did not endear them to taxpaying, British citizens. Many locals were only too eager to descend into the areas of cities that were predominantly Irish and rile them up, because, as the Stockport riot of ’52 proved, it would be the Irish who would face the legal consequences even if they were the victims and only defending themselves.

As Jared flipped through the paper, he also thought about Jensen. The older man had assumed his mother’s name permanently, which announced his heritage to one and all. Never did it seem to bother him, for he had little desire to mingle with the ton. But since their return, the two of them had been wrapped up in their child. They had postponed the move to their own house, with James’ blessing, until Aibhlinn was weaned, which they hoped would happen around her first birthday. Jared was grateful because it meant both James and Traci were close in case there was a mishap or a question (of which Jared had thousands for the accommodating midwife). Jensen had been equally happy to linger, focusing all his attention on his new husband and daughter. There were times, though, when Jared spied him staring from the window at the land spread out beyond the gardens with something akin to longing and Jared was painfully reminded of the stares on those retired soldiers aboard the _Northfleet_ , who were already missing what they’d left behind for their boring, sedate futures.

There was something wild and untamed within Jensen. Jared had sensed it from their first meeting and had been inexorably drawn to it like a moth to flame. The moment they rode across the pastures and he had flung his arms wide had been forever burned in his mind. He never wanted to see that unrestrained spirit subdued or broken. In quiet moments, Jared thought back to Qatar and all that Jensen had sacrificed for him. As much as it was true that Jensen had resented his rule because it had been foist upon him, he was a natural leader. And how would that serve him here, Jared wondered, where no legitimate business would ever hire him or openly work with him and a government position was simply out of the question? Jensen had assured him that he’d invested sufficient funds for them to live comfortably for some time before they needed to settle upon a profession for him, especially, Jensen had quipped, since Jared’s writing career was blossoming. And while it was true his latest project had great potential, it didn't solve the problem of what Jensen was to do. He was most definitely not a man of inaction and Jared worried that the fire within him, banked too long, might be extinguished forever and Jared would rather die himself than see Jensen as a shadow of his former self. And how could their daughter thrive in a land of shadows?

Perhaps, he told himself, it was time to consider something more drastic. After all, Jensen had given up his old life for Jared. Shouldn't Jared be willing to do the same for him and their child?

“Any word from Wilcox in the post today?” Jensen asked, as he placed his strong hands on Jared’s shoulders. Jared tensed, startled he hadn't heard Jensen approach. “Jared?” his husband worried, hands kneading Jared’s stiff muscles.

Jared tipped his head back against his husband’s firm stomach and looked up at him through his messy fringe. “Nothing today, but I don't truly expect to hear from him for at least another week, since I’d only mailed him the conclusion a fortnight past.”

Since Jared’s return, he had lost himself in his writing. At first, it was only meant as a way to sort through his feelings and emotions from his time away. But a story had slowly emerged, with fantastical motifs representing actual events. And as the tale assumed a life of its own, Jared planned on making it into a book of sorts for his unborn child, as a way to explain to them their origin and give them a glimpse of the father Jared had assumed they would never know. It had transitioned through a metamorphosis and became a fairytale of sorts. Jared still recalled how hard he had blushed when Jensen finally questioned him about the stack of papers and drawings that had been piled high on the table. He'd actually regarded Jared with a serious expression, which was what lent Jared the strength to explain the outlandish plot.

It was the tale of a foreign prince, who had been traveling abroad and become the target of a terrible plot to murder him. But the prince had been unknowingly saved by the English boy who had fallen hopelessly in love with him. The only way to save the prince was to make a frightful bargain with the evil king who wanted him dead. The boy had to hand over his freedom in exchange for the prince’s life. And to ensure the boy would stay a prisoner of the evil king, he had been forced to carry an enchanted object on his person so that if the prince was ever to see him again, he would only see something wretched and hateful.

The boy had been granted a pass by the evil king one, final time before he would be walled up forever in the king’s castle to do his bidding. The boy had somehow managed to get to his prince, but the enchantment still held even when the prince took the object from him. Not only did the prince not remember him, but he despised him as well. Rather than kill him, he kept him in a golden cage and the boy prayed every day that the prince might remember him. Eventually, kept so far from the object, the enchantment started to fade and the prince remembered his boy. They were happy for a time, but an evil djinn chased them across the desert and a scorned lover tried to kill the boy. The prince’s wizard saved the lad and the prince sacrificed his happiness to see the boy safely out of his kingdom.

“I would wager he’s as enamored of the ending as am I,” Jensen husked, kneeling down beside Jared and capturing his lips in a kiss that started out as no more than a press of lips, but Jensen’s mobile tongue soon demanded entrance. Jared acquiesced eagerly, opening up for his husband without reticence. Their trysts were few and far between, what with him recovering from the birth and James’ ability to pop around a corner at the most inopportune time, not to mention their very demanding daughter. And they both were cautious with one another since Qatar. Jared sighed happily as the older man threaded his hands through his hair, tugging him close. The hint of pain in the gesture made his knees weak and he was glad he was seated. He slipped his own hands about Jensen’s neck and tried his best to return the fervor with which Jensen was plundering his mouth.

“Here now,” James gasped, timing impeccable as ever. “What did I say about shenanigans like that?” The men pulled apart and Jensen shot the man a foul sneer.

“You wouldn't have such a beautiful niece if not for shenanigans like that,” Jared quipped somewhat breathlessly, still tasting Jensen on his lips.

“Yes, well,” his older brother blustered. “When you two have sufficiently composed yourself,” he added with a cough, “come back to the kitchen. There’s something I'd like to show you.” And he left as abruptly as he had arrived.

The late afternoon light filled the room. But already its qualities were transforming. It was a pale shade of cream, hinting at the crispness of the autumn season that they were on the cusp of. Summer was fading into a mellow haze of memories and change was in the air.

“What is it, love?” Jensen’s gruff voice, oaky like fine bourbon, spilled over him and warmed him to the center of his being.

Jared rubbed his thumb along the cinnamon marks that were sprinkled across his husband’s nose and under his eyes. “Things are changing,” he said rather enigmatically.

Always in tune with Jared’s serious moods, the older man answered, “But not all change is tragic.” And he pressed Jared’s hand against his mouth and kissed his palm. The way he was kneeling beside Jared reminded him again of his proposal and the way Jensen had laid himself bare before him. Jared twisted lightly and couldn't help but glance at that horrid cartoon. Jensen followed his gaze and there was no mistaking the tic in his jaw muscles over it. “Rubbish,” Jensen growled, reaching over to crumple the paper up, but Jared’s hand over his stopped him.

“That rubbish is fast becoming one of the most popular periodicals in the country. Even the Queen reads it,” Jared explained quietly. “It’s not going to just fade away, nor is the poison they seem intent on spreading.”

Jensen stood up and helped Jared to his feet, leading him over to the settee where they could sit together more comfortably. “What are you saying, Jared?”

Jared twisted around, his left leg resting almost completely on the small couch, so that he could face Jensen properly. He clasped the other man’s hands, still rough with callouses, but starting to soften, and his resolve grew stronger.

“I don't want our daughter to grow up in a place where people would call her an animal simply because of her lineage. I don't want to live in a place that would do that to you, either,” he added, staring deeply into Jensen’s verdant eyes.

“It will be better when we move to our new home,” Jensen promised him earnestly.

Jared squeezed his husband’s hands and smiled gently. “We can't run away and shut ourselves up, Jensen. That would be too much like my parents. That,” he breathed deeply, “would be living in a cage, and I won't do that again.” Jensen’s hands tightened in his and Jared quickly added, “I won't have you live like that because it isn't living.” And lest his husband think he was angry with him, dredging up the past like that, Jared leaned forward and kissed him. It only took a few seconds for Jensen to return the affection.

When they pulled apart, Jensen looped his arm around Jared’s shoulders and tucked him up against his side. He twined his fingers in Jared’s left hand and stared fixedly at the way their fingers wrapped around each other. “Where do you think it might be different for us?” he asked gently.

“I was thinking of America,” Jared said in a flurry.

“Parts of the country hate the Irish, too,” the older man pointed out. “The British who've emigrated there did a fine job of bringing their prejudices with them.”

And Jared eyed his husband critically. “You’ve been keeping up on events there.” It wasn't a question. “You were considering it, too?”

Jensen shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn't ask you to give up your home and,” he rushed out, “it wouldn't be easy there, either.”

“True,” Jared agreed, “there would be challenges.” Despite the fact that there were only contemplating such a move, Jared’s heart began to quicken in excitement. “Probably challenges we can’t even imagine yet. But there would be the chance to carve something out for ourselves, free from under any shadows of our past.” The thought of a potential future where no one knew them and they carried no chains of their pasts was a heady thing. “We’d be free,” he whispered like he was sharing a secret. In the late-day light, his husband’s eyes glistened like gemstones. A faint grin teased at the corners of his full lips.

“It won't be easy,” Jensen replied, equally as secretive.

“Nothing worth it ever is,” Jared murmured as Jensen raised their joined hands to his lips.

“Jared!” James bellowed from deep in the house.

Jared froze at the sound of his brother’s voice, the import of their plan beginning to sink in. Jensen’s eyes flickered between Jared’s worried ones. “We don’t have to,” he said quickly. “We can stay,” the older man assured him.

“We’d be standing still if we did,” Jared eventually admitted. “I want us to keep moving forward.”

“There’s time, love,” Jensen said as he helped Jared up. He no longer needed it, almost completely back to his former fitness, but Jared still appreciated the gallant nature of the gesture.

They walked down the hallway, hand in hand, pausing by their bedroom. Jared shook his head as he heard his daughter’s gurgles. Of course, James had woken her up, probably intentionally, the rotter. He gave up any hope of her going back to sleep when she squealed at him. Lifting her up, he blew a noisy kiss on her tummy and her delight grew. “You’re a little rotter, too,” he told her as he rubbed his nose against hers. She smiled and bumped her wet, open mouth against his cheek.

“No kissing him when he calls you such names,” Jensen chided from behind him, holding out his hands expectantly. Jared relinquished her over to her father. Jensen easily cradled her in one arm and slipped the other around Jared’s once again trim waist. “Let’s go see what your noisy uncle wants,” he told Aibhlinn.

They arrived in the kitchen, but James was not in sight. “He's outside with that little creature,” Gerald informed them as he picked up an empty bowl from the floor. “I told him if it made a mess, he was the one responsible for it,” the man grumbled.

Jared and Jensen exchanged curious glances and then made their way through the back door into the potager. The kitchen garden was full of edible flowers, in addition to herbs and other vegetables, to enhance the beauty of the small plot. Jared shivered, feeling the first chill in the early evening air and noticed a few, scattered leaves on the ground. Everything was changing.

Off in a corner, his older brother squatted down with his back to them and Jared had no idea what he was up to. “James,” he called. “We’re here. Now what the devil was so important that you had to wake up your niece?” He tried to sound irritated, but Aibhlinn’s happy giggles sort of ruined the effect.

Slowly, James shuffled to the side, revealing a fawn puppy with a black face sitting on the grass. At least, Jared thought it was a puppy. The creature was huge, but had the soft, loose-limbed gait of a young dog. “What in the world?” Jared mumbled in surprise.

“Ba-ba,” Aibhlinn cried out, hands waving frantically when she saw it. Jared had a hard time not laughing at Jensen’s crestfallen expression. The older man had been quite sure that “Ba-ba” was her way of saying “Papa”.

“One of my patients couldn't really afford to pay me,” James confessed bashfully, “so I accepted his barter. Isn't she a beauty?”

“How old is she?” Jared asked as Jensen grudging brought Aibhlinn closer.

“Just weened. About eight weeks old.”

“Only eight weeks? She looks about twenty pounds at least?” Jensen estimated, which made her about the same size as their daughter, as he leaned down so she could get a closer look.

“Ba-ba,” she gurgled again.

“Aibhlinn,” Jensen said sweetly, “that’s a puppy. I'm Ba-ba.”

“Babababa,” she trilled, hands opening and closing frantically.

Jared scooted down beside the pup, rubbing her behind her ear and amazed at how soft her fur was. “Go ahead,” he urged his husband and Jensen sat down on the grass, their daughter between his legs. Only his grip kept her in place as she tried to crawl her way over to the puppy now that they were both at the same level.

Jared nodded and Jensen let go. Aibhlinn closed the short distance on her hands and knees in the blink of an eye. When she was beside the pup, she pushed herself into a sitting position and batted her hands against the animal’s chest. For the puppy’s part, she nosed around Aibhlinn’s mouth, perhaps smelling the milk that might have lingered there, and began to sloppily lick her face. Aibhlinn closed her eyes, scrunched up her little shoulders and let out a series of laughs that almost sounded like cackling. That only served to incite the pup to further acts of wet busses, which, in turn, added to their daughter’s mirth. And when the puppy was suddenly beset by a round of hiccoughs, Aibhlinn laughed so much she fell over onto the grass.

Jared stood up and stepped beside James. “A dog, eh?” he asked as he elbowed his older brother in the ribs.

“Every child should have a pet, little brother. We should have,” he declared.

“I just think she's a little young for her first horse,” Jared teased, tongue peeking out between his teeth. “How big was her dam?”

James coughed into his fist and mumbled something.

“What was that?” Jared prodded.

“Thirteen stone, give or take,” his brother repeated.

“Give or take what? An elephant?” Jared gasped. At one hundred and eighty pounds, the puppy’s mother was as big as he was.

“Now, now, Mabel is a darling,” James assured him.

“Mabel? I suppose that's a fitting name for a heifer,” he quipped, only half-teasing.

They both watched as Mabel and Aibhlinn played together with Jensen the ever attentive father making sure neither was too rough with the other. Jared’s smile turned bittersweet as another leaf fell from the trees, signaling summer’s end, and he felt a stab in his heart that things were truly changing.

“There’s still time to squeeze in more of this,” he murmured to himself. “There’s still time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All pictures, excluding photo manipulations and the one of Mabel, are in the public domain in the United States. There is a signed, model release form for the baby portraying Aibhlinn (pronounced "ahv-leen").
> 
> And, yes, I Fido Sue'd one of my dogs into the story. Mabel is a darling at 180lbs and sweet as can be.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets the full NC-17 rating!

_ _

_July 18 th, 1855_

_Liverpool, England_

In the end, Jared came to understand there would never be enough time. Once the seed had been sown and he understood that Jensen had been contemplating it as well, Jared knew down to the very depths of his soul it was the right decision for them. Breaking the news to James had been difficult, but surprisingly only for Jared. When he had explained his plan and the reasoning behind it, James had become quite still. When he finally did speak, it was not what Jared expected.

“I knew,” his brother told him, “as soon as I saw him darkening our doorway that my days with you were numbered.” There were other words as well, but that had been the gist of it. Traci had been slightly louder than James in her reaction, but understood all too well the need to start over in a new place.

The most pressing order of business had been to sell the house in the country. They made the offer to James first to exchange residences. He had politely declined and Jared knew Traci had been secretly pleased when he said Gosport was home for him. They offered Sir William first right of refusal, but the “gambling squire” was in no position to purchase back the land he’d lost, let alone the house. They took their time and after five months, found a buyer and even made a marginal profit on the sale. The Ackles family had their stake for the New World. With that taken care of, the only reason they lingered was to make sure Aibhlinn was weaned. By her first birthday, she was drinking cow’s milk and was starting to accept a small variety of bland, soft foods. Other than contacting his agent, Mr. Wilcox, regarding Jared’s story tentatively titled _The Golden Cage_ , everything had been settled.

Jared adjusted his jacket, shivering despite the warm morning. He blamed it on the brisk, ocean breeze and not the foreboding picture the _SS Baltic_ painted, with its black hull and black stack and only a crimson stripe running the length of the ship adding any color to it. The sidewheel steamer only last year held the record for the fastest transatlantic crossing at under ten days and was still the fastest steamer on the Atlantic. Jensen had made sure to book the ship that would spend the least amount of time on the water, knowing of Jared’s tendency to become seasick. They’d secured a “honeymoon” suite for thirty pounds and paid the extra five for Mabel’s passage as well.

Their daughter was hopelessly in love with the girl, who currently weighed in at nearly nine stones and was still growing. No one could contemplate separating them. So Mabel sat calmly beside Jensen, who directed the porters to their luggage, and was bound for America with them. Jared was secretly glad, loving the large mastiff as much as his daughter did. And he was impossibly grateful to James, who had relinquished the dog even before Jared could broach the subject with him. His curt, “She’s always been Evie’s dog,” was the end of the nonexistent discussion. Jared rolled his lower lip into his mouth and bit down as he turned to face his brother.

James, Traci and Aibhlinn were milling about a slightly more deserted portion of the dock, out of the way of the hustle and bustle of porters and luggage and general mayhem. The _Baltic_ had one hundred and fifty first-class berths and a smaller amount of second-class ones. Judging by the crowd on Prince’s dock, the ship was filled to capacity. Jared watched, trying hard not to tell himself it was the very last time, James reach down for his niece. He hefted Aibhlinn from one arm to the other. She giggled and ducked her head into the crook of her uncle’s neck. James turned enough so that he could kiss her on her forehead. He snorted and then gave an exaggerated sneeze, which delighted the little girl. “Your hair tickles, baby girl,” he told her and she placed her hands on top of her head and dragged them down like she was combing the fine, blonde hairs into place.

“Tee?” she asked with a smile and James kissed her nose.

“Yes, you are very pretty,” he agreed and she bobbed her head.

“Tee,” she repeated, clearly in agreement with him. “Down,” she insisted a minute later, wriggling in his arms. Jared had to blink back tears at the reluctant way James set her on the ground. She toddled over to Traci, who clasped Aibhlinn’s hand tightly in her gloved one.

After much debate, Jared and Jensen had decided that a nanny might be worthwhile for the trip across, if only to give them a real chance at the honeymoon they hadn’t experienced. And there was no one they trusted more than Traci. So they approached her with the offer, knowing that she had no expectant mothers that were due for at least three months. She accepted on the condition they not pay her beyond her fare to and from New York. She had insisted the trip would be payment enough and a wonderful holiday away from “that man”.

“Whatever will you do without me, James?” she teased Jared’s brother.

Jared waited for the scathing retort he knew James had at the ready and was gobsmacked when his older brother wrapped his hand about her waist, pulled her close and kissed her for all he was worth. When he finally released the startled woman, she staggered back a step, placing her free hand on her heaving breast and for the first time since Jared had met her, the Scottish woman was struck dumb.

“The question is,” he nearly growled, “what will you do without me for nearly a month?”

“Oh,” she gasped as James strode over to Jared. She adjusted the shawl she had about her shoulders and let Aibhlinn pull her closer to water and away from the men, but there was no missing the rosy glow on her cheeks.

“Well played,” he said as he knocked his fist against James’ shoulder. His brother was decidedly smug.

“That should give her something to think about,” he bragged before growing somber. The mood was catching.

“I’m going to miss you,” Jared rasped as he leaned against his brother. “I promise to write as often as I can.”

“You better, Gigglemug,” James sternly replied. Only standing so close did Jared hear the catch in his voice.

“I’ll expect the same, you know,” he reminded him in a voice equally as unsteady.

“I’ve gotten quite good at replying to letters thanks to you and Jensen,” he pointed out. And James had become a very good correspondent, especially once Jensen put him in touch with Dr. Richings. The two men wrote frequently and Richings had “introduced” him to other colleagues he exchanged missives with. James, always thirsty for knowledge, appreciated the exchange of ideas and treatments immensely as he believed, along with the other men, that sharing their knowledge would only serve to benefit everyone they treated.

They both stood silently for a few minutes, letting the sounds of the sea and the chatter of excited passengers wash over them. “I never thought,” Jared began, “that I would be the one leaving.” He shuffled around so he was in front of James. “I was resigned to you having your life and escaping Daylesford and I was truly happy for you,” he rasped, emotion bleeding into every word.

“I know,” James husked, clapping his hands onto Jared’s shoulders. “And I was always so grateful for that. No one else understood me like you did there and I know you assumed much of our father’s burdens in my place. I wanted,” James paused, removing a hand to slash at his face quickly, “I wanted you to leave, too. I would have made a place for you once I had a home, but you needed to take the first step on your own, or you’d never be free of him.” And then James started to laugh.

Dabbing at his eyes, Jared asked, “What?”

Swallowing several times to gain control of himself, James smiled ruefully. “I always knew you’d go far, little brother.” He yanked Jared into a fierce hug. “I just didn’t think it would be quite this far,” he whispered in his younger sibling’s ear before planting a smacking kiss there. He pushed him back to arm’s length then. A recognizable squeal had them both turning to Aibhlinn and Traci. James chuckled again as his niece flapped her arms like the gulls, which had amused her with their antics as they chased scraps of bread. “’Thursday’s child has far to go’,” he murmured.

Jared sniffed and nodded.

“It’s good what you’re doing,” James pronounced as they both noticed the hawkers and dock workers that milled about. Their banter left no doubt as to their nationality. Menial labor was about the best any Irishman was able to land in England and that showed no sign of changing. “She deserves every chance to be seen for whom she is, not wrongly judged for where she came from.”

A steward from the _Baltic_ announced near the gangway that it was the final call for passengers to come aboard. Jared and James hugged tightly and showed no sign of releasing the other anytime soon. But tiny hands batted at his leg and Jared pulled away to glance down. Aibhlinn was peering up at him with her grassy-green eyes and a pout twisting on her lips.

“Mine,” she declared and pushed at Jared so that he would move away from James. He laughed and swung her up into his arms.

“Yes, my sweet,” he agreed with her, “I’m all yours.” He breathed in her baby-clean scent and it soothed the crack in his heart that leaving James had created. “Now tell your uncle,” he tried to say without breaking, “bye-bye.” He didn’t entirely succeed.

Aibhlinn twisted around and flopped her hand up and down. “Bye-bye,” she parroted him. “Bye-bye.”

James leaned in and kissed her once more. She giggled and ducked down, burying her face against her mother’s long neck. “Bye-bye,” he told her, while all the while looking at Jared.

Jensen, with Mabel in tow, approached them. His manner was deferential, which Jared both appreciated and loathed. They’d both come to the decision to move, but in the final weeks of preparation, Jensen had grown quiet and thoughtful – almost moody. He and James had mostly reconciled, although they no longer shared the easy camaraderie of their university days. Too much had changed and they both knew it.

“It’s time,” his husband said seriously.

Jared nodded to him and tried very hard to muster up a smile for his brother’s sake. Jensen passed Mabel off to Traci, who also offered to take Aibhlinn, but Jared had only clutched his baby tighter. Traci spared a final, enigmatic smile to James and walked up the gangway to the deck, joining the other passengers who waved farewell to friends and loved ones.

Jensen held out his hand, which James shook with slow deliberateness. As the older man meant to break away, James tugged him in for a quick hug, whispering loud enough for Jared to hear, “Take care of them.”

When they finally did part, Jensen replied lowly, “With my life.” James stared at him for a long time and then jerked his chin, quick and decisive.

Trying not to glance over his shoulder, Jared let Jensen lead him up the walkway onto the ship. His husband kept his hand on the small of his back the entire time and Jared was glad of the firm touch. He stood as close as possible as they assumed a position by the rail, along with the other passengers, and watched as James slowly shrunk into the distance. The boat didn’t have the familiar creak like the _Northfleet_ had – a sound that had almost become a lullaby to Jared then. Instead, he was painfully reminded of the last time he’d been on a steamer – sick, pregnant, afraid and crying because he had left his heart behind. Now he was on another ship leaving his past behind, and the very best part of that past was almost nothing more than a dot on a fading horizon.

“No,” Aibhlinn said sharply, shocking Jared from his musings. Her petite hands patted his face all along his cheeks and he wondered why she was doing that. “Mama,” she gurgled. “No.”

When he caught one of her pale, white hands in his, he noticed it was wet and he realized she was trying to stop the tears that he didn’t know were falling. He kissed her damp fingers and smiled weakly, which made her smile as well, tiny dimples in full view. Her toothy grin, all eight of her little milk teeth flashing, made him genuinely chuckle.

“Down,” she said and tilted her head fetchingly. Jared was wrapped around her finger, too. Obliging her thinly-veiled order, Jared did as she wished. Traci came up beside her and Mabel shifted to the other side. “Maybee,” she smiled, still not able to say the dog’s name correctly, and smacked her hand up and down on the patient mastiff’s head in her version of a pat.

“Why don’t we take a stroll?” Traci suggested to the little girl, giving Jared time alone with his husband and his thoughts.

From the corner of his eye, he watched the careful way that both of his daughter’s companions accompanied her, never letting her out of reach. He sighed and let his head fall on Jensen’s sturdy shoulder. His husband tightened his grip about his waist and stayed silent, rubbing his thumb up and down Jared’s side. Jared reached back and caught his hand, pressing it harder against him.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Acting all maudlin and such.”

“Don’t be daft,” Jensen growled, but softened his words by leaning back and pressing a kiss to Jared’s temple. “You just left your family behind.”

Jared lifted his head from Jensen’s shoulder and turned into him. “You and Aibhlinn are my family, too. I simply left a part of myself behind. The best part is here,” and, decorum be damned, he wrapped his arms about his husband’s middle and shook him slightly.

Jensen smirked and kissed him quick and hard. “Then, Mr. Ackles,” he said with an exaggerated drawl, “may I have the pleasure of your company for a stroll around the deck?” He offered Jared the crook of his arm, which the younger man happily accepted.

“I should be delighted, Mr. Ackles,” he replied, slipping his hand around the proffered limb.

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity. Aibhlinn couldn’t get enough of the ship, walking up and down the deck dozens of times. It didn't hurt that everyone who saw her had to comment on how lovely she was and she preened under the attention. Jared was thankful that the motion of the steamer, as speedy as it was and different from that of a frigate, didn’t upset her constitution in the slightest. She was so active that she missed her afternoon nap entirely and when evening rolled around, they decided to take their dinner meal in their berth.

Situated around the grand saloon, theirs was one the few “honeymoon” cabins available on the ship. There were two chambers, connected by a door. Both were comfortably furnished with sofas and ample washbasins. The bed in the main chamber was finished in satinwood and draped in damask curtains. Traci and Aibhlinn were in the second room, where Aibhlinn’s crib was already situated. She had well and truly tired herself out and didn’t even fuss when put to bed that night, Mabel faithfully curled up underneath the only piece of furniture the men had brought over from England. Even Jared had to admit the day had exhausted him, emotionally as well as physically and, despite the tempting setting and relative privacy, he was asleep almost as soon as he stretched out on the comfortable bed, Jensen pressed up against his back.

The next morning was a lazy one for them. One pull on the bell-rope and a steward was knocking on their door within minutes, taking their breakfast order. While Jensen made quick work of his mutton chops, Jared tried to tempt Aibhlinn with scrambled eggs and porridge, pleasantly surprised by her willingness to give the eggs a try. Mabel was equally eager to sample anything that found its way to the floor, always an adventurous connoisseur when it came to spilt foods. Jensen gave Aibhlinn her bottle, the ship well-stocked with milk, so that Jared could eat his breakfast before it grew cold.

“Ye go to all the trouble of having me here,” Traci groused, her brogue heavily evident that morning, “and ye do all the work yerselves. I canna understand.”

“Have no fears,” Jensen told her as he watched their daughter kick out her legs energetically while she drank her milk, “you’ll have plenty of time alone with our daughter.” He shot Jared a heated stare and the younger man nearly choked on his eggs, which was not an easy feat. He swallowed noisily, nervous excitement rippling through him. Part of this trip was meant as the honeymoon that hadn't been able to take. While a traditional, bridal tour had been out of the question (neither one of them able or willing to visit relatives who hadn't been in attendance at their wedding), they both longed for a chance to be truly alone with each other. Now that it was a reality, Jared felt unaccountably aflutter like a virgin anticipating his first time. He blushed rosily and let his fringe fall across his eyes as he lowered his head.

Aibhlinn let out a most unladylike sound and Jensen shot Traci a plaintive glance, but the woman merely snorted and stood up from their breakfast table too fast for either man to politely rise with her. “Ye wanted ‘er, ye got ‘er,” she quipped. “I think I will freshen up before taking a turn on deck. I suggest,” she leaned down and winked at Jensen, “ye do the same for your bairn there.”

Jared began to eat quickly, excessive clanking of silver against china plate, and pretended not to hear Jensen’s plaintive, “Jared…”

He snickered covertly as his husband sighed and stood up, smelly daughter in his arms. “How someone so sweet can make odors such as that,” he bemoaned his situation. Aibhlinn giggled and bumped her mouth repeatedly against his face and Jensen returned her sloppy kisses with his own.

They spent the day much as they had their first one onboard, walking with their daughter up and down the decks. As soon as she had taken her first, wobbly steps back in the gardens at Gosport, she had been unstoppable. And, as always, Mabel was by her side. On occasion, their daughter still fisted the mastiff’s fur to keep balance, but more and more she needed no assistance. They stayed close by her side, however, being on a ship and all, unwilling to take any chances despite her exclamations of, “No baby”. Jared was constantly amazed at how fast she was growing and realizing, with no small amount of sadness, that she rapidly wasn’t a baby any longer.

When evening drew near, they all retired back to the rooms to change for dinner. Since it was the second night onboard, formal attire was de rigueur. Traci was busy putting the finishing touches on Aibhlinn’s lacy ensemble as Jensen returned from the bathing cabin. The sight he presented stole Jared’s breath.

Much like the night at Sir William’s soirée, Jensen was dressed from head to toe in black. His single-breasted dress coat was left open, giving Jared an unobstructed view of his waistcoat and stark, white shirt. And what a view it was. Unlike many men of the time, Jensen had foregone the usually colorful or embroidered waistcoat for one that was as black as his suit, although it was made of silk, so it shimmered with a subtle gleam in the lamplight. He'd also chosen an almost severe shirt instead of the ruffles that many of the ton still preferred. With straight lines and delicate pleats in the front, only a man with a broad chest could have worn it and not appeared rumpled by the style. Jensen had no issues there. Dotting the front were several eyelets that he had filled with studs topped by black pearls. A pure, white cravat, unpretentious in its shape, wrapped around his upright collar. His starched cuffs peeped out from his tailcoat sleeves and Jared noticed he sported cufflinks that matched his studs. The silk facing lapels of his coat lent a militaristic air to the outfit, like it was a uniform, and Jensen’s short locks completed the illusion of a soldier standing at attention.

“Do I pass muster?” came his sardonic query, as though he could read Jared’s mind.

Jared shook his head and realized he'd been rather blatantly ogling his husband. He dropped his head, hoping that his wayward locks would hide the pink stain that was surely coloring his face. “Absolutely,” he muttered, fussing with the flouncy front of his own shirt, feeling foppish and ridiculous compared to Jensen’s elegant and austere person. His maroon waistcoat, embroidered with gold thread, was suddenly garish in comparison and he felt like a child playing dress-up rather than a full-grown man.

“Here now,” Jensen admonished him as he stepped into Jared’s space and chucked him under his chin until he looked up. “What’s the matter, dear heart?”

Jared’s eyes fluttered a bit at the endearment. Whenever Jensen called him a pet name, his heart beat that much faster. “Nothing,” he managed to say. “I was simply thinking how you’ve dressed to the nines and was feeling a little foolish in my own choices. I dare say,” he tried to make a jest of his silly mood, “that I look like a poor relation next to you.”

“Nonsense,” Jensen snapped. Jared was surprised by the tone and something of that surprise must have been manifest, for Jensen smiled ruefully. “Sorry, love. I don’t like anyone to speak of you in a derogatory manner, and I suppose that includes even you. You’re quite wonderfully handsome in that outfit and any man would be proud to have you at their side.”

Jared tried hard not to duck his head, as was his habit when Jensen lavished praise on him, knowing his husband hated it when he “hid”, as Jensen described the habit. “Thank you, kind sir,” he quipped instead.

“Although,” Jensen breathed, crowding up against Jared, “I would much prefer to see you outside of that delectable outfit.”

“Jensen,” Jared sighed, unsure what to do with his hands, but dying to touch his husband somewhere.

“Here we are,” Traci announced loudly as she and Aibhlinn entered their room from the common door.

“Later,” Jensen muttered as he stepped smoothly past Jared and made the appropriate sounds of pleasure over how adorable their daughter was dressed.

She turned around, albeit unsteadily, to show her off her goldenrod yellow dress and matching bonnet to her parents. Jared was certain the bonnet would be askew or lost completely by the end of the meal – they never lasted long with her. Aibhlinn was rather insistent about uncovering her head for some strange reason, but didn't mind wearing shoes at all, which Jared thought she would hate. Apparently, she understood they protected her little feet and being so active, she accepted their necessity. She felt no such loyalty, however, to hats.

“Very pretty, darling,” Jensen told her as he dropped to one knee before her.

“Tee,” she agreed, head bobbing up and down in enthusiastic agreement. She then pointed to Traci and declared, “Tee.” She looked at her father with eyes that reminded Jared of Mabel when she was a pup – huge and soulful.

“Quite right, Evie,” he answered, using James’ favorite nickname for her, “Traci is very pretty, too.”

Traci laughed and gave him a brief curtsy. Aibhlinn watched with her big eyes and then grabbed the sides of her dress, lifting it high. So high, in fact, everyone had a good look at her frilly underclothes. She squatted inelegantly and then cackled, pleased with herself and her new skill.

“We’ll practice that later,” Traci told her, barely holding her own laughter in check as she gently got Aibhlinn to let go of her dress so that it dropped back down, the hem swirling about Aibhlinn’s chubby knees.

Jensen slipped on his white, kidskin gloves and pulled his gibus out of a drawer and made a production of snapping the spring-loaded, top hat open in front of their daughter like a fair magician performing his best trick. She laughed and clapped at the show like she always did. Hat in place, he scooped her up and, apparently still enamored by his prestidigitation, she didn’t squawk at being carried like a baby. Jared offered his arm to Traci and they went off to dinner.

There were two saloons on the _Baltic_ and the first-class cabins were situated around either one or the other. Their particular berth was next to the grand saloon, which required them to walk through it to get to the dinning saloon. Unlike other, austere steamships, Jensen had chosen the Collins line for their speed, size and their passenger amenities. Despite its rather foreboding, outward appearance, the ship was rather decedent inside. As they took their time to stroll through the richly carpeted saloon, they all had to take a moment to admire the large columns in the middle of the room.

Stretching from the floor to a skylight in the spar deck above, the columns were made entirely of patterned glass and as wide as a man was tall. They conducted natural light from above and were rather spectacular, appearing to glow from within because of the sunset. Jensen carried Aibhlinn up to one of them and he traced along the etched glass to show her it was safe. She followed his lead, mouth open in a tiny circle of petal pink, and delicately followed the grooves in the designs with her unsteady fingers. Jared had a strong suspicion they would be spending a great deal of time in front of those structures before the voyage was over, judging by her obvious fascination. It was a marvelously ingenious way to add more light to the room and with the opposite wall nearly covered in mirrors (another spot he was sure would enchant their daughter), the room appeared so much brighter and spacious than it actually was.

Most of the passengers were in attendance for dinner and laughter and music filled the air. It was by far the most crowded room their daughter had ever been in, but she never showed any discomfort over the amount of people around her. The fact that most fawned over her and completely agreed with her assertion that she was pretty probably played no small part in her comfortableness. She didn't fuss at the table, although occasionally her giggles were a touch on the loud side, no one was unduly troubled by them. All in all, they passed a remarkably enjoyable evening together. Jared didn't eat with his usual gusto, however, and that did not go unnoticed.

“The motion troubling you?” Jensen asked discreetly, leaning in close.

“Not at all,” Jared was fast to reassure him. “I-I,” he stammered, folding and unfolding the linen square in his lap.

Jensen placed his hand over Jared’s to still the nervous motion. “What, love?”

Jared tilted his head closer to Jensen’s. “I might be anxious about tonight,” he confessed.

Jensen’s smile was slow and lascivious and only served to make Jared flush hotly under his suddenly too-tight collar. He pulled Jared’s hand into his lap and stroked the thin skin of Jared’s wrist with his thumb. Jared tried – and failed – to stop the tremble that sure touch incited. But when his husband’s finger slipped under the tight cuff of his shirtsleeve and brushed the smooth skin of Jared’s forearm, it stilled its slightly erotic teasing. Jared tried to catch Jensen’s eye, but the other man retracted his hand and began absently patting his coat pockets.

“If you will all excuse me,” he said in a queer tone, “I think I might take advantage of the smoking room after such a lovely meal.” And he brandished his silver, cigarette case before them as proof of his desire.

Jared wanted to ask what was wrong, but decided not to push the matter in front of the others. Jensen bowed to the ladies and left, forgetting to open his hat like he always did for their daughter’s pleasure. Something was very wrong and Jared was determined to get to the bottom of it sooner rather than later. Whatever it was, he decided, he wouldn't let it fester.

“Traci,” he began once Jensen had left, “would you mind terribly entertaining Aibhlinn for the remainder of the evening?”

She smirked knowingly at him and Jared was reminded that he had initially been anticipating an amorous evening with his husband, but that seemed out of the question after the strange turn of events. He didn't want to concern the other woman about it unduly, playing along instead.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting to spend _all_ evening alone with your husband?” she pressed on, sounding innocent enough, but there was nothing innocent about the gleam in her eyes.

“If you don’t mind,” he answered, lowering his head and hoping she took the gesture for one of embarrassment and not that he was hiding his concern from her.

“About time,” was all she muttered as she helped Aibhlinn from her seat. “Come, little lady. I think we’ll take a turn about the deck and then settle in for stories and a final bottle for the night.” Jared gave his baby girl a kiss as she marched past him, probably eager to give those columns another inspection. Jared vaguely wondered if they’d glow with moonlight, too.

Jared sipped his dessert wine, wanting to give his husband some time alone with whatever was troubling him before waylaying him. As he half-heartedly enjoyed the sweet liquor, he thought back to what they were doing before Jensen had left. He'd worried about Jared and seemed more than eager at the hint of enjoying a romantic assignation with him. But that had changed after he touched Jared’s arm. Unconsciously rubbing his wrist, he couldn't for the life of him understand why that might have upset the other man. But as his fingers stroked against the smooth skin of his forearm, it became all too clear.

It was his _smooth_ skin that had disturbed Jensen.

One of the only, lingering reminders of his less-than-pleasant experiences in Qatar had been Jared’s apparent inability to grow back the body hair he’d lost. As best as he could guess, he'd been treated with that burning concoction enough times during his stay that its absence was a permanent thing. What little did return was soft, pale and so baby-fine as to be almost invisible. Never having been particularly hirsute before, Jared wasn't overly bothered by it. His husband’s sensibilities, apparently, were a different matter.

He rose from the empty table with a nod to one of the stewards and slowly weaved his way through the dining saloon to the winding stairs that led to the smoking room above. Situated in the aft portion of the ship, the room was filled to capacity when Jared entered. The smoke from the various cheroots, cigars and cigarettes was rather overwhelming, hanging like a dense fog over everything. Smoking was not a pastime Jared was enamored of, not understanding the enjoyment that many got from the bitter taste of the tobacco. And his passing acquaintance with the huqqa was more than adequate for one lifetime. If he never drew another, smoky breath, he would be satisfied. But he didn't begrudge Jensen the indulgence. In fact, although he couldn't explain it to himself, he found watching Jensen smoke to be extremely arousing. Perhaps it was the way Jensen’s sensuous lips wrapped about the slim cigarette that did it for him, now knowing all too intimately what that tender flesh felt like when it was wrapped around him or sucking bruises into his skin, or... He snapped his head brusquely, trying to stop that train of thought before his traitorous body gave away his carnal desires to all and sundry.

More than a passing few men regarded him as he wandered about the room in his search for Jensen. He dipped his head in acknowledgement to those who greeted him, but he only wanted the attention of one, special man. When his search left him empty-handed, he passed through the room where the helmsman was stationed and exited onto the main deck.

The breeze from the ship’s passage was slightly chilly since the sun had set, but not entirely unpleasant, especially after his visit to the smoking room. He breathed deeply of the sea air, letting it clear his head and hopefully carry away the lingering odor of cheroots and cigars. Jared wandered about the deck, which was relatively well-lit, undoubtedly for the sake of the passengers, hoping to find his husband. At the very rear of the ship, he spotted the telltale, orange spot of a lit cigarette and walked slowly closer.

Sure enough, it was Jensen. With one hand holding a smoldering cigarette, he held something else in his free hand. By the light of the nearly full moon, Jared recognized the object as a daguerreotype. Jensen was studying it quite closely and Jared momentarily was hit with a wave of jealousy, wondering what would enthrall Jensen to such an extent that he would be oblivious to everything around him. As he edged closer, unintentionally becoming stealthy, Jared realized that the picture was of him. It was the one that the American photographer had taken while Jared had been an unwilling guest – _a prisoner_ , his mind corrected – of Jensen’s. He remembered all too well how ashamed and humiliated he had been that day. Despite his superfine, wool dress coat, he shivered.

The setting sun against his bare skin hadn’t kept him warm, either. It had only been the notion that men were staring at his naked flesh, watching and judging, that had brought any, shameful heat to his body.

“I can never seem to forget,” Jensen spoke lowly, apparently aware of Jared after all, “what I did to you.”

Jared edged nearer, slow and wary.

“I can't deny that I wanted you to suffer, Jared,” Jensen continued, never taking his eyes off the image of the broken boy forever captured there in the red velvet casing. “And what does that say about me?” He laughed then, but it was cold and brittle, like dead bones.

Sliding alongside him by the rail, Jared answered, “Human, I suppose. Not perfect.”

Jensen huffed and took a long drag from his cigarette. The crinkle of burning paper was the only sound between them, drowning out even the slap of the water against the ship’s hull. “Not perfect,” his husband agreed sadly. “Far from it, as a matter of fact.”

“Do you love me?” Jared rasped, unsure why he would ask that question of all things in that moment.

“Yes,” Jensen hissed, whipping his head about and staring heatedly at him. “More than my own life.” His eyes burned brightly in the light of the waxing moon, but the green that shone out was the deep color of the forest, promising shelter to whoever entered. Jared clasped his hands together and leaned his forearms against the rail.

“I hurt you,” he replied softly, after some contemplation.

“But you were trying to protect me,” Jensen spat. “I have no such noble excuse.” And his eyes returned to the photograph. One finger traced along the ample curve of Jared’s backside.

“Do you prefer me like that?” he found himself questioning.

“God, no,” Jensen gasped. “I-I look at this and I see a broken soul. I stare at the slope of your shoulders and I see a man beaten down, branded and broken. And every time I look at this, I see what I did. I remember.”

Jared nodded, although he was fairly sure Jensen wasn't watching the him that was present. He only had eyes for the Jared of the past.

The victim. The prisoner.

“Is that how you want our daughter to think of me?”

“What?” Jensen practically shouted. “No!”

“Then let it go,” Jared beseeched him. “It’s in the past.”

Jensen took a drag of his cigarette and nearly spat the smoke out. “And how do I do that? How do I forgive myself for what I did to you?”

Jared smiled then, knowing he had the answer Jensen needed to hear. “You do that by forgiving me for what I did to you, which was no less heinous.” Twisting his torso so that he could see his husband better, he continued, “I did something horrible to you.” When Jensen opened his mouth to argue, Jared pressed his long fingers against his plush mouth. “I did,” he said confidently, “regardless of my motives. Forgive me,” Jared entreated. “Forgive me as I have already forgiven you.”

“But I do forgive you,” he rasped harshly, and the way his hands shook proved he didn't know the subsequent step.

Jared sidled up next to him. “You can't hold me and the past, my dear heart. You have to let one of them go.”

Jensen tossed his cigarette into the sea with a practiced flick of his fingers. The daguerreotype seemed to weigh too heavily over him. He clasped it with both hands and stared long and hard at it. Jared almost was afraid that Jensen wouldn't be able to let the guilt go and he knew only too well the weight of that chain on the soul. When he had almost given up hope, Jensen slapped the holder together with enough force that he heard the glass crack. He watched, catching his breath, as Jensen cocked his arm back and hurled the picture into the sea, where it would be lost forever out of man’s reach.

He half-hoped that Jensen might take him into his arms, but the older man clasped his hands together tightly and stared at the splash of moonlight on the waters they left behind them. “I could say the same of you,” he finally admitted.

Jared furrowed his brow in puzzlement. When Jensen finally met his gaze, the other man was sad. “You don't even know, do you?” he whispered, reaching out with one finger to tug at the golden chain draped across Jared’s waistcoat.

Jared followed his finger and spotted his father’s watch, winking cheerfully in the pale light. For some, unnamable reason, he still wore the blasted thing. Putting in on was as second nature as breathing to him. The weight of the gold timepiece was something that seemed inescapable. As if in a dream, he watched as Jensen pulled the watch from his pocket and pressed it open. There, as always, tucked into the timepiece’s cover was the sketch he had hastily created after Jensen had left England. Each stroke of his pencil had recreated how betrayed, how hurt he had left Jensen and not a day went by that he didn't look at that portrait. The only time he hadn't was when he’d been brought into Jensen’s kingdom. And even then, he had searched for the watch with the unconscious regularity of breathing. When Jensen had returned the items to him that he had withheld in Qatar, Jared hadn't truly noticed that he'd taken up the burden of carrying that guilt again if only in a symbolic sense.

“I…” Jared started, but didn't know how to finish.

Jensen plucked the portrait from the watch and pressed it into Jared’s hand. “I forgive you,” he said earnestly. “I forgive you,” he repeated as he folded Jared’s cold fingers over the small image.

Jared stared stupidly at his hand for several, long moments. When he glanced up, Jensen was studying him sadly, knowingly.

Copying his husband, Jared tossed the offensive image into the waters, where it was lost instantaneously. Dropping his bleary gaze back down to the watch, he finally snapped it shut decisively. Unclasping the chain from his coat, Jared let it snake onto the watch with a hollow clink. Stretching out his hand over the rail, Jared turned it about, opened his fingers and let the contents empty into the boundless sea. He only wanted to see their future.

“Let’s leave the past behind us once and for all,” Jared murmured, clutching Jensen’s silky lapels in his fists as he tugged his husband close.

Jensen obliged, wrapping his strong arms around him. “There’s only the future before us now.”

Jared tilted his head downward slightly and pressed his lips against his husband’s. Jensen was still for less than a heartbeat before he reached up and tangled a hand in Jared’s hair and yanked him closer, like he could devour Jared whole. And Jared wished he would.

When he let out a soft moan, Jensen pushed him back. “If you keep making sounds like that, I’ll end up in the brig on an indecency charge, Jared,” he rasped.

Jared wiped a shaky hand across his lips. “Do they even have such a thing on a ship like this?” His heart pounded and his knees were weak.

“Would you really wish for me to find out?” Jensen smirked, one eyebrow cocked sardonically.

“No, I really wouldn’t,” Jared confessed, melting into his husband’s side when the other man pulled him snug against him.

“Let’s continue this conversation somewhere more discreet, shall we?” Jensen breathed against his ear, wracking Jared’s body with shivers. He ended his suggestion with a lick to his lobe.

“Yes, please,” Jared said, although it was more of a whimper than an agreement.

Like a man drunk, Jared stumbled along with only Jensen’s strong arm holding him upright. It was a long, torturous walk through the grand saloon. Jared didn't know if he returned any of the mumbled greetings tossed their way by the passengers who still loitered there. He hoped so, but truthfully he was caught up in a haze of desire the likes of which he’d never felt before and had little recollection of how they eventually were able to tumble into their stateroom.

Jared all but collapsed on the sofa and began to frantically tug off his boots. Jensen stepped towards the door between their cabins, but stopped when he discovered it was locked. He turned around and gave Jared a perplexed look. “I wanted to wish Aibhlinn sweet dreams. Why is this locked?”

Standing up unsteadily, Jared shuffled over on stocking feet until he was beside his husband. “I might have suggested to Traci that we needed the night to ourselves. I-I am sorry for not considering you would have wanted to see our daughter,” Jared added, guilt rising up when he realized he should not have made such a decision without considering his husband.

Jensen’s face grew stern. “Hush,” he commanded Jared. Jared froze in mid-ramble. “Good boy,” Jensen purred as he circled around Jared. “I happen to concur with your plan completely. In fact,” he said, voice growing deeper, dipped in dangerous desire, “one night won't be nearly enough.”

Jared’s eyes closed and he sucked in a shuddering breath. When he opened them, Jensen was right there in front of him, filling up his visions so that the other man was all that he saw. With trembling fingers, Jared undid the buttons of his tailcoat and meant to free himself of the restrictive clothing, but Jensen halted him with a single word.

“Stop,” he whispered, gravel rough and sure. “Good boy,” he repeated as Jared’s hands stilled immediately. He circled around Jared and Jared fought the urge to turn as he did, to keep track of the sleek panther that prowled around him. The older man came to a stop behind Jared and hot, moist puffs of air hit Jared’s neck in a steady cadence. He quelled the urge to loosen his cravat, which had grown strangling and restrictive.

Jensen’s sinful lips brushed against his left ear. “Shall I be valet as well as lover?”

Jared’s manhood was beginning to swell at that honeyed tone. “Whatever you want,” he agreed breathlessly.

“Oh,” Jensen paused to suck the tender lobe and Jared fought to remain upright. “I _want_ , Jared,” he finally said as he released the abused flesh. “I want.”

Deft hands gripped his upper arms and Jared had to stifle the urge to struggle against the confining hold. As if sensing his inner turmoil, Jensen loosened his fingers and raised his hands up the superfine material until they rested on Jared’s shoulders. Those steady fingers clenched and unclenched there, loosening Jared’s rapidly tensing muscles.

“Shh,” Jensen exhaled as he worked the coat free of Jared’s arms. He had no idea where it ended up and cared even less. His world was shrinking down to just the touch of Jensen’s hands against his body. And he wanted, as well. He wanted those hands to pick him apart and put him back together however Jensen saw fit. He ached for the freedom of surrender.

“Look at me,” his husband ordered him. Like they weighed ten stone, Jared pried his eyes open to find Jensen in front of him again. “You can't hide from me,” he whispered.

“No,” Jared croaked. His voice was shot already.

Licking the corner of his mouth, Jensen turned his attention to the elaborate knot of Jared’s cravat. As he plucked at it with nimble fingers, Jared focused on the dark brown hair of his husband. In the flickering light of the lamps that Traci must have lit before she retired, bits of gold glinted teasingly and he longed to run his fingers in the tempting locks. He must have raised a hand, because Jensen warned, “Ah, ah,” in much the same way he stopped their daughter from touching something forbidden. “I didn't give you permission, did I?”

“No,” Jared admitted slowly. “I’m sorry,” he breathed out in a rush.

“Hmm,” Jensen hummed even as he deftly unbuttoned Jared’s shirt. Jared shivered when it hung loosely at his sides, exposing his chest to Jensen’s hungry gaze.

He couldn't stop the way his body jumped and jolted when Jensen slowly dragged his hands up along his torso, thumbs teasingly rough with his nipples, which puckered and tightened under the expert touch. “So responsive,” Jensen sighed as though talking to himself. “So exquisite,” he added, dipping down and licking the left one. Jared’s head fell back of its own accord. His shirt drifted to the ground, quiet as a whisper.

When Jared finally dragged his head back up, Jensen was no longer in sight. But before he could even think of twisting about to find him, his husband pressed up tightly against his back. Jared sighed happily when Jensen’s fingers began tugging and fussing with the fastenings of his trousers. There was no mistaking the hot line of turgid flesh against his backside. He rutted back instinctually and couldn't help the smile that curved his lips when he heard his husband’s answering groan. Their couplings had been discreet and cautious since Jensen’s return and Jared truly appreciated that. But that's not what he craved now. He needed Jensen to give him everything, without thought of gentleness or consideration. And he wanted Jensen to take everything that he wanted from him in the same fashion.

Somehow Jensen was in front of him a third time, but at his feet. Rough skin trailed up his exposed calves as Jensen fondled his legs and Jared barely understood Jensen was trying to get him to raise one. He let his gaze drop down his mostly nude body, trousers and smallclothes in a heap at his feet, to see that Jensen was fussing with his stockings. He placed a hand on the older man’s broad shoulder to brace himself and lifted up his leg, only wobbling slightly. Jensen rolled his stocking off and then repeated the motion with the other leg. By the time Jensen slid sinuously up his body, his woolen clothes like a sandstorm biting against Jared’s exposed skin, Jared was completely naked before his husband. The only thing he still wore was the golden pearl on its chain. That he never took off.

“Look at you,” Jensen marveled, slowly circling around him, his hand leaving a burning path where it brushed casually against his flank. “Like one of Michelangelo’s marble creations come to life. Are you my Galatea?” he breathed hotly, coming to rest behind in dizzying repetition. There was no mistaking the slow rocking of his husband’s hips against his.

“Jensen,” Jared moaned, part prayer and part plea as his head tipped back against his husband’s shoulder.

Jensen surprised Jared by stepping back and Jared almost lost his balance at the abrupt absence of that firm body against him. “Before we go any further,” Jensen spoke slowly and deliberately, “I need to ask you something.”

Jared’s eyes fluttered as he tried to make sense of what the other man was saying. He felt drunk and debauched from Jensen’s touch and it was no easy thing trying to muster some sobriety in that moment. “W-what?” he gasped.

“Do you want this?” Jensen asked simply. When he must have seen Jared’s confusion, he elaborated, “The way we’ve been going about it. With me…in charge,” he finally said, stumbling over the words. “We’ve not discussed the possibility of additional children and if we carry on as we have, there might be more.”

Finally, understanding pierced the fog of Jared’s addled mind. Oblivious to his nudity, Jared moved boldly up against his husband. “The other way,” he replied. “It's not what you would want, is it?”

Jensen wouldn't meet his eyes as he shook his head in the negative. Jared was giddy. It was a heady thing to know he held this power over his husband. That Jensen needed his permission for what they both craved. Lowering his lips to Jensen’s ear, he exhaled, “It's not what I want, either.”

Jensen’s head shot up at that. “What do you want?” he demanded, dominance leeching back into his words. “Show me.”

Without a second thought, Jared dropped gracefully to his knees before his fully-clothed husband. He clutched his hands on the man's narrow hips and began to nuzzle at Jensen’s groin. Where the bravado came from Jared hadn't a clue. But he basked in the moment, dragging his open mouth against the most intimate part of his husband, wetting his fine trousers with his saliva and desire. He continued his assault on his husband, reveling in the way the other man moaned and began to thrust ever so slightly against Jared’s head while his hands held him in place.

“Jared, stop,” Jensen finally hissed, tugging sharply at his wayward locks. He yanked Jared’s head back enough that Jared found himself staring up at his husband, mouth open wantonly.

“Look how you’ve ruined the line of my trousers,” the older man rasped and Jared let his gaze drop back to the object of his attention. The bulge in Jensen’s pants was unmistakable and Jared flushed with pride and want, knowing he had done that even as the impropriety of the words, despite the privacy of their bedchamber, shocked and titillated him. “Whatever are we going to do about that?” Jensen wondered as he slowly hoisted Jared up against the length of his body.

“Whatever you want,” Jared swallowed, meaning every word. He put himself wholly into Jensen's capable hands

“On the bed,” he growled. “Now!”

Jared stumbled backwards and landed in an inelegant heap against the firm mattress. The bedclothes alternately abraded and aroused his overly sensitive flesh and he squirmed against them like a cat in heat. Jensen stood beside the bed, looming over him and blotting out all else.

“You’re mine, aren't you?” he grated out. “Aren't you?”

“Only ever yours,” Jared agreed huskily.

Jensen let his proprietary gaze travel up and down Jared’s smooth body and Jared practically preened under it. “Grab the headboard,” Jensen told him in a low voice.

Jared stretched his arms above his head blindly, hands grasping at the air until his fingers caught the edges of the carved satinwood. He squirmed about until he had his hands anchored above him on the carved furniture, his body a single, long, lean line against the dark colors of the fabric beneath him. He looked up beseechingly at Jensen, hips beginning to thrust of their own volition. “Jensen,” he nearly whined.

For his part, Jensen continued to lord above him. When he finally leaned down, he murmured, “You need to hold fast, Jared. Can you do that?”

“I-I,” Jared stammered. Licking his lips, he tried again. “Yes,” he acquiesced dazedly. But it was like that time from his childhood when his body was changing unbeknownst to him. He was feverish and confused and everything was one step removed from reality.

“Good boy,” Jensen smirked.

In what was surely meant to be a slow torture, Jensen began to shed his prim and proper clothing. For his part, Jared struggled to keep his hands in place, but he could do nothing to stop the constant thrusting of his hips. His manhood was flushed a deep red, nearly purple at the tip, and freely leaking against his straining abdominal muscles. Jensen carried on as if unawares.

Carefully folding his tailcoat upon the bureau, Jensen reached up and yanked his cravat free as he paced from one side of the bed to the other, never once tearing his eyes off of Jared. “I love you like this, Jared,” he snarled, in direct contrast to the careful, calm way he plucked the studs from his shirt, letting them fall like raindrops as he moved about the room. “When you give yourself over to me,” he exhaled as he shrugged out of his pristine shirt, “and fall to pieces in my hands.”

Jared did his best to track his husband’s every movement, toes curling and uncurling at the sound of that rough voice.

“I long to make you crumble to pieces, love,” Jensen confessed as he undid his trousers. “To split you open,” he sighed as his smallclothes joined his dress pants on the carpeting, “and fracture you.”

Gloriously naked, Jensen lowered himself onto the foot of the bed and began a torturously slow climb on hands and knees up Jared’s body. “Have you look up at me with those damned eyes of yours that see into my very soul, begging me to stitch you back together. I want it all.”

“Take it,” Jared moaned angrily, hungry and delirious in his want.

Jensen fell upon him, claiming his lips in a kiss that was savage and tender by turns. The change leaving Jared twisted up and confused as he struggled to keep his grip on the headboard, knuckles whitening with the effort. A part of Jared’s mind told him it would be so much easier if he was tied, but Jared pushed that temptation away for another time. He could do this, he assured himself. He would do this.

When Jensen leaned his head back, a thin string of saliva connected them together and Jared wanted to chase that tether back to his husband’s mouth desperately, but Jensen moved out of reach as if taking a perverse delight in denying him. When he dove back down, it was to gnaw at his ear, breathing wetly into it and making Jared break out into a palsy.

“Jensen, Jensen, Jensen,” Jared repeated mindlessly and was only answered by a deep throated chuckle that did nothing to stop the tremors that wracked his body.

Fitting one hand under his chin, Jensen pushed Jared’s head to the side and proceeded to gnaw against his jaw. Jared’s hips shot off the bed and Jensen settled himself bodily across him to pin him in place. The inability to truly move was maddening and winding Jared up in the most delicious way. He tried to rub against his husband, but that devil shifted his hips aside, so Jared was left with nothing to thrust against.

“You’ll take what I give you,” Jensen snarled deeply and proceeded to suck slow, wet kisses down the taut length of Jared’s throat. By the time he’d shuffled down to Jared’s sweating chest, Jared thought he’d lose his sanity. He hissed when Jensen licked across a tight nipple and then sealed his lips around the rosy peak, sucking it to greater heights.

“Guh,” Jared grunted unintelligibly. Jensen had reduced to him to animalistic sounds.

By the time Jensen lavished his attention on the other nipple, Jared was near mad with want. His fingers loosened their death grip and he was a hair’s breadth from clasping Jensen against him when his husband must have felt the shift in his hold.

“No, Jared,” he scolded him. “I didn’t give you permission.”

Hair clumping against his damp forehead, Jared bit back a whine. Jensen, that bastard, smugly grinned as he licked his lips and waggled his head from side to side as though Jared was a banquet table and he was trying to decide what to sample next. Against his will, Jared’s legs fell open invitingly.

“You’ll be the death of me, love,” Jensen groaned and shimmied down until his hands held Jared’s undulating hips in his steely grasp. The strength in the older man’s arms stirred an intoxicating mix of fear and desire within him, the tug and pull of escape versus surrender making him dizzy. And when his manhood was sucked into the warm, wet depths of Jensen’s mouth, Jared arched off the bed and screamed.

Jensen worked as much of his length as he could in his mouth, talented tongue swirling around the head and licking into the slit with practiced familiarity. Jared’s head thrashed from side to side, although all that accomplished was plastering his sweat-soaked fringe across his eyes. Jensen took pity on him, given his predicament, and pulled off his swollen cock with a loud, messy slurp. He reached up and swiped the hair free from his eyes.

“Perhaps I should visit the barber,” Jared murmured, half out of his mind with want as he tried to see his husband through his wayward mane.

Jensen pulled himself up and glowered down at Jared, grabbing a handful of damp strands and snagging it back tightly enough to make Jared wince even as it made his cock jump in nervous arousal. “You will not,” he snarled. “I like it as it is.”

“Is that all you like?” Jared teased breathlessly.

“Hardly,” Jensen grinned. “Shall I show you what else I like?” His eyes flickered like green flames in the low light.

“Oh, yes,” Jared gasped as the resulting slide of Jensen’s torso against his manhood sent sparks shooting up his spine. When he settled between Jared’s spread legs, Jared held his breath in carnal anticipation.

Jensen shoved his legs farther apart and Jared denied him nothing. Nuzzling against his vulnerable thigh, Jensen kept one arm thrown across Jared’s hips to pin him in place and used his free hand to fondle his sack with knowledgeable surety. He rolled his bollocks back and forth while Jared writhed under the onslaught, arms strung tight and trembling with the strength it took to keep them locked in place. He vaguely wondered what it would feel like if his legs were similarly trapped, mayhaps spread wide so that he could do nothing to prevent Jensen access to every part of him, but he stored that for later dalliances. When Jensen dipped his head down to run his tongue along the length of scar tissue that spanned from the back of his sack to his hole, Jared shot upright, commands to stay in place impossible to obey any longer.

It was the only trace that remained from giving birth and was insanely sensitive. Jensen’s touch there had set him afire and Jensen had to scramble up to catch his flailing limbs, shaking and numb from holding one position too long.

“Jensen,” Jared gasped like a man struggling to stay afloat, “I-I need…I want…”

Jensen clasped him tight against his chest, covering his face in frantic kisses. “Shh,” he soothed as he pressed him back against the rumpled bedclothes. “I know what you need,” he promised without arrogance, because he did know what Jared needed most. Reaching across Jared’s heaving form, Jensen fumbled for something from their bedside table with one hand while keeping Jared pinned in place with the other.

With bleary eyes, Jared recognized the jar of oil they used when they coupled. He laughed brokenly, sure he was so wet between his cheeks that it was unnecessary. He still was slightly embarrassed by his body’s propensity to moisten when aroused, but Jensen had been adamant in expressing his absolute delight with the fact that Jared’s body was literally made for what they enjoyed most between them. He had been equally as adamant in making certain that there was absolutely never a chance that Jared might experience a twinge of discomfort when they were intimate. They both enjoyed the preparation too much for Jared to complain.

With a confidence that Jared found arousing, Jensen slicked up his fingers and circled about the furled entrance to Jared’s body as he dropped down to slip his tongue within Jared’s willing mouth. Flicking the slick muscle inside as he did the same with one, thick finger, Jensen made Jared forget about everything else but him. Jensen licked along the bumpy ridges of Jared’s mouth, using every trick he knew to distract him from the second finger he wiggled beside the first.

Jared clawed at Jensen’s broad back with his “freed” hands, desperate to pull his husband inside him. He had unknowingly begun to grind his hips down against Jensen’s fingers, his cries when his husband added a third finger eaten out of his mouth. It was too much and he was about to lose himself to the sensation when Jensen gripped the base of his manhood tight.

Coming up for air, Jensen gasped, “With me inside you.”

“Please,” was all Jared could respond.

“Good boy,” Jensen praised and Jared shivered in delight. Situating himself on his knees between Jared’s legs, Jensen said, “Such a good boy for me.” And he hoisted Jared’s hips up onto his powerful thighs, his cock brushing tantalizingly against Jared’s clenching hole. Jared’s head fell back against the pillows as Jensen used one hand to guide the fat head against his rim. It caught on every other pass and Jared hissed in pained delight.

Finally, finally, Jensen nudged himself inside Jared, but it was a slow, inch-by-inch tease. Jared tried to take matters into his own hands, as it were, by locking his legs around his husband’s waist and pulling him forward, but Jensen laughed dark and throatily. “My ride,” he smirked. The line of sweat at his hairline spoke differently and Jared exulted in the fact that he was making his husband strain for control like that.

Soon enough they slipped into a rhythm as familiar as riding horses. Jensen lowered himself so that he was lying on top of Jared as they rocked against each other. Jared found himself grabbing at the headboard of his own volition, using it as leverage so that he could thrust back on his husband, impaling himself on the older man’s prodigious manhood. The thick length stretched him impossibly full and Jared struggled to breathe against the emotions that flooded his body, eyes locked on his husband’s. The friction between their torsos was almost enough, but it wasn’t until Jensen’s cock bumped up against that spot inside him and nearly blinded him with pleasure that Jared’s body lost its struggle to contain itself. Ribbons upon ribbons of come exploded from his body, streaking them both while his insides clenched and gripped Jensen’s manhood, wringing the same response out of the other man.

Jared floated for a time, like a piece of flotsam on the ocean, bobbing back and forth without rhyme or reason. When he eventually opened his eyes, he saw that Jensen had covered him completely and was lavishing slow, messy kisses to his cheek, jaw and neck. “There you are,” he rumbled, the sound echoing in Jared’s own chest. He reared back enough to look Jared in the eye before he kissed him soft and sweet.

“Mm,” Jared sighed, sore and sated in the best possible way. “That was spectacular. We should definitely do that again.”

Jensen chuckled and rolled his hips against his. His husband was half-hard already. “You’re insatiable.”

“Appears I’m not the only one,” Jared quipped, voice still ragged and rough.

Jensen grinned and leaned down to lick the shell of Jared’s ear before he nipped the lobe. “Ow,” Jared whimpered.

“Just reminding you who you belong to,” Jensen teased, but there was something dangerous brewing behind his emerald eyes.

“Only yours,” Jared agreed solemnly.

“Mine,” he growled, low and feral. He grabbed Jared tight and twisted them around so that Jared was resting on top of him. Jared understood the silent request as he snaked a hand between them to guide Jensen back inside. As he sat up slightly, he grunted as Jensen filled him up again.

Head falling back as his hands slid up and down Jensen’s strong chest, Jared started to find a pace that would please them both. “We’ve got all night,” he moaned as his head lolled forward.

“Wrong,” Jensen corrected him and Jared felt the stomach muscles beneath his long fingers quake with exertion. Jared opened his eyes to regard his husband. “We’ve got all our lives.”

And Jared’s lower lip quivered at the sincerity and depths of the sentiment. He wanted to reply and fervently agree. He really did, but then Jensen’s cock hit _that_ spot again and his world dissolved into stars. He’d tell him later.

After all, they had all the time in the world now.


	36. Chapter 36

__

_March 28 th, 1856_

_Dallas, Texas_

For a while, they thought Texas might be their home.

After saying goodbye to Traci in New York, they had taken a steamboat to Galveston by way of Cuba and New Orleans. Jared and Jensen had decided that Texas held the most promise for the kind of land that they wanted to settle on. Jensen had expressed a desire to continue to work and breed horses, the challenge of mastering such powerful animals never having burned out of him. Jared was most agreeable to the idea, remembering how free Jensen was when astride. He himself was more than happy for them to claim a spot all their own and pursue his own dreams of continuing his writing and having a place where their daughter could grow up as unfettered by society’s demands as was possible.

The initial few days of their continued voyage had been rather uneventful, until Aibhlinn came to the realization that Traci was not playing some elaborate game of hide-and-seek and was truly gone. When that absence sunk in, she was inconsolable for days, crying for her “Auntie”. Jared’s heart broke with every, fat tear that rolled down her downy, petal-pink cheek. He had expected it would be hard for her, but he hadn’t anticipated how difficult. Both he and Jensen took turns walking her about deck, hoping something would distract her from her heartbreak. In a last attempt, Jensen spoke to the captain and was given permission to carry her through the engine room and to see the men working with the coal and whatnot. That was what turned the tide. Whether it was the sounds or sights of the inner workings of the great ship, Aibhlinn was finally distracted. Her tears dried up and her eager, searching hands had to be held close to keep them out of mischief. The remainder of their voyage on the water passed much calmer after that, although the men had had to mill about in the stuffy engine room every day with their curious daughter. She still sniffed at bedtime, but Jared would sit beside her crib and tell her all manner of fantastical tales. She settled down quickly enough, one hand dangling through the spaces in the crib’s side to brush Mabel’s fur, reassuring herself her dog hadn't gone, too.

They’d taken a stagecoach to Dallas, deciding to stay in the busy town while they searched out the perfect tract of land for their home and got a sense of what the community was like. For a very brief time, they contemplated joining the smaller settlement known as La Réunion, founded by Victor Prosper Considerant, a French democratic socialist. His initial dream for the colony was, as he put it, “a communal experiment administered by a system of direct democracy”. Comprised entirely of highly-skilled Europeans, the settlement was north of Dallas. Numbering around three hundred persons, La Réunion had appeared promising. But once they toured the area, the men knew it was not the place for them.

“They want to build an insular community,” Jensen had remarked later, “and while it’s all well and good to have watchmakers and brewers and weavers, I can’t see how long they’ll make it without a decent farmer in the bunch.”

Jared had agreed, noting, “Those two acres they purchased seemed rather fallow to me for the amount of wheat and vegetables they were trying to grow.”

In the end, they decided that was not for them. One good thing that came about during their search for the perfect location was that Jensen had a chance to examine not only the types of horses that were being bred in the area, but he got a good, firsthand look at the cattle the region was growing famous for as well. The beasts, descended from a cross of the wild stock originally brought over by the Spaniards and those that the first Texas settlers brought with them from back East, were a tough, hardy breed that did well under a variety of adverse conditions like drought and heat. With horns that stretched nearly seven feet long, they were an impressive animal and Jensen was intrigued with the possibilities they presented for breeding. He began a thorough tour of some of the ranches, speaking to those that would spare him the time and began furiously writing down notes and plans.

Jensen’s various forays meant an extended stay in Dallas and as winter settled in, so did they. They resided at Crutchfield House, on the northwest corner of Main and Houston Streets. Thomas Crutchfield, the hotel owner and builder, took a shine to Aibhlinn, as did his wife Mariah and their French cook. The little girl had the run of the place and she especially liked to linger in the kitchens, when she wasn’t running about the courthouse square with Mabel, to sample the tarts the cook was renowned for making. Thomas, an excellent marksman, often tracked buffalo, deer and quail to provide for his guests. It didn't take long before Jensen was joining in on his hunts. While the men hunted, Crutchfield shared what he knew of the area, providing Jensen with invaluable tips and connections to many of the more well-known ranchers in Three Forks, not to mention giving him a fairly accurate understanding of the current, political climate.

Having a semi-permanent residence at what also doubled as the town’s post office was fortuitous. It gave Jared a chance to establish a relatively steady correspondence with his brother and Jensen was able to send word to Jacob, too. And the fact that their host and postmaster hailed from Kentucky proved invaluable to Jared, who had an idea formulating as soon as they had set down temporary roots. It was surprisingly simple for Mr. Crutchfield to help Jared post a letter to Mr. A. Keene Richards. Unsure how his request would be received, Jared shared none of his plans with Jensen and swore Thomas to secrecy in case it didn't come to fruition. It had broken his heart when Jensen had eventually confessed how he had given away his prize horses, torn up with pangs of guilt, remorse and unworthiness. He hoped he might be able to reunite Jensen with them and he explained the situation to the Kentuckian in broad strokes. Jared dropped his letter off in the “E” slot for east and hoped for the best.

The months they spent at Crutchfield House turned out to be an unexpected boon. Their stay opened their eyes to the reality of life in that particular region of the Union. They both had been aware that slavery was legal in parts of America, but were disturbed how prevalent it was in Texas. Nearly one in every four people owned at least one slave. And while it was true that some owners were generally fair, too many weren't. Jensen, as a man who had his own slaves at one point in his life, was rather shocked by their treatment and the “laws” that were meant to protect them, but turned out to not be worth the paper they were written on. In the confines of their rooms, he said as much to Jared, upset by the way the Africans were used.

“But what of the eunuchs?” Jared had countered. “They were mutilated in order to better serve.”

“Not under my reign,” the older man had snapped, before he’d calmed. “But they were. You're not wrong. No restitution would ever make that right.”

“And there were the concubines,” Jared had whispered. He didn't say it to punish Jensen. That was well and truly behind them. But he couldn't deny he knew firsthand what it was like to have his freedom stripped from him, even if his cage had been a gilt one.

What finally made them realize Texas was not the place for them was a frightening disturbance one winter evening as they sat in the parlor of Crutchfield House. Aibhlinn was playing on the carpet with Mabel while he and Jensen enjoyed a glass of sherry after another excellent meal, all of them exhausted from playing in the snow – a first for their daughter, but definitely not a last from the way she had been enamored of the frozen stuff. A knock at the front door startled them as guests usually didn't arrive so late in the day and no one was expected. When Crutchfield answered the door, a captain and three privates pushed their way in. Jared recognized them as the current, assigned Patrol that searched the town for slaves that were on the run or accused of some offense. The law required that at least half the men of the Patrol be slave owners or their representatives, to assure they had a vested interest in keeping the “peace” and doing their duty.

“We’ve heard word that one of your boys who works in the kitchen,” the captain explained, “got a might threatening with one of your guests.”

While he and Crutchfield got into a heated discussion over the matter, the hotel owner swearing that no guest had been molested thusly, the privates began to march about, rifling through cabinets and generally menacing the patrons, more interested in loitering about and getting warm than actually searching the place. When one particularly scruffy sort stomped by, he nearly kicked Aibhlinn in his haste to get to the fireplace. Mabel’s deep-throated bark startled him and he stumbled back. Aibhlinn started to cry and Jared scrambled to pick her up and hold her close. Jensen shot off the sofa and stood protectively in front of both Jared and his daughter, while Mabel – grown to her full thirteen stone – lumbered to her feet and took up position beside Jensen. The private scuttled away, half-muttered apologies trailing in his wake.

Later, as Thomas sat with them and explained that the Patrol had made a mistake and it was the Dallas Tavern across the square that they had meant to search, Jensen asked what would happen to the slave if they caught him.

“I expect they’ll drag him before the justice of the peace,” he had clarified while trying to tempt a smile out of their shaken daughter by offering her a sweet, “but that’s just for show. Threatening a white person will earn him thirty-nine stripes of the lash, more ‘n likely in the public square.”

The next day neither of them left the hotel, and Jensen did his best to keep Aibhlinn distracted from the muffled screams that carried across the courtyard that gray afternoon. With each strike, Jared flinched, recalling all too vividly what the sensation of being whipped was like. That night, while they had lain in bed, Jensen had pulled him close, whispering, “We’re not staying here, Jared,” and held him through the night. By the next morning, they were considering alternatives.

They weren’t eager to return north. Although the anti-Irish sentiment tended to be localized in the larger cities, it was definitely more prevalent there. Besides, the reasons why they had chosen Texas hadn't changed. Neither desired a city life, craving open land and room to run. Jensen agreed. “And, Jared, I have a sinking feeling,” his husband had confided in him quietly, “that this nation is on the brink of war.”

“What?” Jared had gasped, slipping on his trousers. Aibhlinn was still soundly asleep in her crib, blessedly sleeping through the nights now. Jensen slid behind him and planted a kiss on the nape of his neck.

“From what I’ve gleaned from Thomas and the signs I can see for myself, it wouldn't surprise me if this country ends up divided right down the line with the northern, free states pitted against the southern, slave holding ones. I won't risk having you pressed into service if that were to happen,” he finished fervently, “hoping that you might be spared since you are a mother.”

“But it would be fine if you were?” Jared had demanded heatedly, struggling to face his husband. “I won't allow it. There must be somewhere we can go that’s safe.” He had no doubts about Jensen’s prediction. Reluctant or not, the man had been a leader and a tactical one at that. If he saw signs that pointed to civil unrest, Jared did not doubt him in the slightest.

Jensen leaned up and kissed his lips softly. “I have an idea.”

And so they had settled on one of the northern, slave free regions in the hopes that since the Idaho Territory wasn't an actual state, they might be spared directly participating in any conflict when it came to pass. And Jared fervently prayed it would be spared.

“The Spaniards that came there first called the region Montaña del Norte,” Jensen said that bright spring morning. “The people settling the area just call it ‘Montana’.”

“Montana,” Jared hummed. “Mountains?”

“Mountains, green valleys and a sky that stretches on forever,” Jensen replied.

“Montana,” Jared agreed.

“And now that that’s settled,” Jensen murmured, stepping up close to Jared, “How would you like to spend the day? It is our anniversary, you know.”

“Really?” Jared exclaimed, hand to his chest. “Where has the time gone?”

“Come here, you,” Jensen growled and yanked him close and proceeded to kiss him breathless. And Jared wanted to get lost in his arms. He did, but he also wanted to give him the letter that had been burning a hole in his coat pocket for nearly a fortnight.

“Mr. Ackles,” he exhaled when he pulled away. “In broad daylight?”

Snagging a hand in Jared’s long locks, he tugged him back. “Any time of day is the right time of day for this.”

“Wait,” he pleaded, one hand against Jensen’s firm chest. “I want to give you something first.”

Jensen’s smile was wolfish. “And I,” he husked, “want to give you something.”

Somehow, Jared wriggled his way to freedom. He staggered over to the small desk in their room and retrieved his journal. He pulled the missive he’d been holding onto for days from between the pages and handed the letter to Jensen. “Happy anniversary,” he said nervously. Jensen’s brow furrowed, but he smiled as he took the folded sheet. Although Jared had read and reread the letter a dozen times, he still pressed up beside his husband and read again the neat, cursive script with him.

 

_My Dear Mr. Ackles,_

_Please forgive the tardiness of my response, but I was actually abroad when this arrived for me and am only newly returned home. As a matter of fact, I was on my second adventure to the Arabian Peninsula and was detained longer than expected. My Syrian guide, who was of immeasurable aid to me on my first journey, passed away unexpectedly while we were there and it took me several months to learn enough of the language that I was able to barter and deal for the horses I wanted personally, not trusting another soul to represent my interests properly. But that’s neither here nor there._

_Now on to the matter of your heartfelt request to purchase Shaitan and Alya back from me._

_I am sincerely indebted to your husband for what he shared with me while I was his guest. Not only did I learn a tremendous amount about the breed, I also learned what I needed to look for in my stock. As much as I wish I could say I was man enough to handle those two, Shaitan in particular, they proved too hot blooded for my abilities. I had no success whatsoever in breeding them with the stock at my farm and they were like two peas in a pod, determined to thwart me at every turn as if of one mind and purpose. As sad as I would be to part with them, for they truly are magnificent creatures, I would be overjoyed to return them to their rightful master._

_As for payment, it would please me greatly if you would accept them as a belated wedding gift. What a strange turn of fate that we should all be together in this place at the same moment. I rather think that fitting._

_Please contact me at your earliest convenience and we can come to some sort of arrangement regarding their transport to you. And please pass along my regards to Thomas and your husband, of course._

_I eagerly await your reply._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_A. Keene Richards_

Jensen stared and stared at the paper for so long that Jared wondered if he had somehow misstepped. Had he offended Jensen by meddling where he shouldn't have? He sucked in his bottom lip and chewed on it. Perhaps he should have discussed it with him first. Mayhaps Jensen wanted no other reminder of the life he had left behind for Jared and their daughter. The longer the silence stretched, the more uncomfortable Jared became. He raised his fist to his mouth and gnawed on his thumbnail viciously while stepping away. When Jensen finally let his arm drop, the rustle of the paper was deafening as it fluttered down with the motion. He regarded Jared with a look the younger man couldn't decipher. Jared struggled to swallow.

“Why?” was all Jensen said in a strangled grunt.

Jared yanked his hand from his mouth and instead clasped his hands together tightly, trying very hard not to wring them. “Because I know how much you love them. And because I think you gave them away because you thought you weren't worthy of them anymore,” he tripped over the words in his haste to get them out. When Jensen told him about their needing more care than he could give them at the time, Jared had heard the unspoken truth behind Jensen’s explanation. The man hadn't felt deserving of the blessed line any longer.

“You are worthy,” Jared breathed. “You are and like the man said,” he added softly, “it is fated to be.”

Jensen walked over to the desk and very carefully placed the letter down on its center. He didn't turn around. Instead, he lowered his head and Jared realized that his husband was struggling with his emotions. Between the two of them, Jared was the one to wear his heart on his sleeve, while Jensen kept a tight rein on them for the most part. Jared wondered, and not for the first time, what a hard way that was to live. Knowing what his husband needed, he padded over in his stocking feet and slipped his arms about the other man’s waist, pressing up the length of Jensen’s broad back and laying his head in the crook of his husband’s neck much like their daughter did. Jensen remained silent, but he bought his hands up to cover Jared’s.

For a long time, they both stood there like that and it was a content silence. “Thank you,” Jensen eventually rasped, voice like gravel. And then he surprised Jared by chuckling. “I don't think my gift to you will measure up well against this one.”

Smiling into his husband’s back, Jared quipped, “Good thing you’ve got years to make it up to me.”

Jensen whipped around and there was no mistaking the wetness of his beautiful, green eyes. “A lifetime,” he croaked and pulled Jared impossibly closer.

“Papa!” came a cheery cry before either man could do or say anything else. Aibhlinn, hair sticking up in wispy tufts, was standing in her crib, hands on the rail. “Mama,” she added when Jared turned around. “Out pease.” She still had trouble with the letter “L”, but was slowly improving. A part of Jared found it adorable, although he hid it. He didn't want to think of her growing up too quickly.

“Shall we take our nearly two-year-old daughter to breakfast?” Jensen smiled. When he hooked his hands under her arms and hoisted over the side, he groaned exaggeratedly. “Oof. Such a big girl.”

Aibhlinn wobbled her head up and down. “Big girl,” she agreed and they both cackled.

 _Not too fast_ , Jared thought silently. _Not too fast_.

“Come on then,” he urged Jared. “We’ve got lots of planning to do.”

“Come, Mama,” Aibhlinn agreed, splaying and curling her tiny fingers. Jared’s hand swallowed hers up. Jensen and he moved their arms so that Aibhlinn swung back and forth between them. “You’re right,” Jared agreed. “We’ve got work to do.”

After that, time seemed to alternately race ahead and then stutter to a crawl. Waiting for the horses was the latter. After much heated discussion back and forth, they decided to have the horses sent to them. Jared had argued that Jensen should have collected them in person, but he had countered that he didn't want to drag Jared and Aibhlinn halfway across the country only to turn back almost immediately. Their upcoming move would be enough of an adventure as it was. And he had completely dismissed the idea of leaving them behind. Richards recommended a man he trusted for them to hire to bring them out and eventually the beautiful Arabians were stabled in the livery attached to Crutchfield House. Thomas had whistled at the sight the two made in his stables, his envy clear, especially after Jensen had demonstrated how deceptively strong the rather delicate appearing breed was.

The ebony Shaitan was miffed with Jensen. By turns, he ignored and bridled at him for nearly a week, but when the older man took him to hand, the stallion came round soon enough. Alya was more forgiving, as happy to see Jensen as she was Jared. Aibhlinn, who had been around horses before had no fear of them, pat them and then was distracted by something else. They looked as beautiful as Jared remembered them to be. Richards’ people had obviously taken excellent care of the pair. But it was Jensen that was magnificent. Once he was astride Shaitan, tall in the saddle, he looked content in a way that Jared, for all his writing abilities, was unable to elucidate. He had been amazed when he'd watched Jensen ride his father’s horse. On his own steed, he was otherworldly. Jared had never seen another rider so connected to their mount, like they were parts of the same creature. The look of gratitude Jensen had gifted him with upon their arrival had him dumbfounded and left him faintly embarrassed. He'd hoped his husband would be pleased. He hadn't anticipated how grateful he would be. And the night of the horses’ arrival, Jensen had proceeded to show Jared just how grateful he was. By morn, there wasn't an inch of his skin that wasn't covered in love bites and marks of Jensen’s worship.

May brought about two rather strange occurrences. A blizzard out of nowhere blanketed most of northern Texas, freezing the Trinity River into sheets of ice. Jared dutifully unpacked the winter clothes they had purchased last autumn, but Aibhlinn had already outgrown her coat. Jensen dressed her up in his, which dragged behind her like a robe on a princess. That delighted her to no end as she and Mabel frolicked in the unexpected, winter scene before them. The unlikely turn in the weather was the nail in the coffin for La Réunion, though. Their meager crops didn't survive and not too long after, the members disbanded. Some returned to Europe, while a few decided to make Dallas their home instead. Jared was glad that he and Jensen had decided to pass up the opportunity to become a part of that failed experiment.

The second thing that left them flabbergasted was an odd bit of news that Mr. Crutchfield passed along, while they were sitting with some of the other hotel guests in the parlor, enjoying some of Mariah’s signature dessert – ambrosia. The dish, she informed everyone, was poplar for Christmas back in Kentucky, but the unseasonal snow had inspired her. While Jared helped spoon the unusual concoction of sweetened coconut shavings layered between pulped oranges for Aibhlinn, who vacillated between scrunching her nose at the new taste and opening her mouth as wide as she could for the next bite, Thomas recounted what one of the army men who had recently stayed for a night had told him. Apparently, a contingent of camels had landed in Indianola.

“What?” Jensen sputtered.

Nodding in agreement, Thomas said, “I know. I’ve only seen pictures of ‘em in books myself. The Army’s been trying to protect us settlers out here, but the weather and land are too hard on the horses and mules. Seems Secretary of War Jefferson Davis knew some major who had fought in the Indian wars in Florida who thought they’d be the perfect critter for out here.” He paused as he scraped the last of his ambrosia out of his bowl, licking the spoon when he was finished. “Davis has been keen to have them for years and once he became Secretary, Congress gave him thirty thousand dollars three years ago for it.

“As this feller told it,” he continued, “they sent a Major over to Egypt last year to buy thirty or so. They bought these special saddles for them, because of the lump in their centers, and even brought back a couple of Arabs to teach everyone how to ride ‘em.” Thomas had no idea that Jensen was an Arab. Both Jensen and Jared had shared a chuckle about that more than once. Like Richards had told Jensen, he had a flat way of speaking English and everyone assumed he was a Northerner. Jared’s British lilt was unmistakable and, occasionally, a brave man would complement Jensen on landing such a pretty limey.

“So they’re in Indianola?” Jared asked as he bounced Aibhlinn on his knee. His mind was already whirling. This might be a once in a lifetime chance for their daughter to see something that her father had grown up with. Even if she didn't truly remember when she was older, they could tell her all about it.

“Already on the move, according to him. They’re marching the whole lot to San Pedro Springs, just beyond San Antonio. They figure they’ll be there by middle of June,” the hotel owner finished. He collected their empty dishes and excused himself a few minutes later.

Excitedly, Jared shared a look with Jensen. “She probably won't remember it, Jared,” Jensen said without him having to say a word. But his lips were turning upwards.

“She might,” Jared countered. “And if not, we can tell her all about it. In fact, now that photographers are so commonplace, I’d wager we can get a portrait made with her next to one.”

“I suppose a short visit to San Antonio wouldn't be amiss,” Jensen agreed, holding out his hands to pull their daughter into his lap. “How does that sound, my sweet?” He brushed a kiss against her fine, blonde head. She pulled her chin against her chest and giggled.

“I'll take that as a ‘yes’,” he told her, the skin crinkling about his eyes as he did.

 

_June 18 th, 1856_

_San Antonio, Texas_

“The camels are coming! The camels are coming!” someone yelled above the clanging of bells.

Jared pressed up beside his husband. Jensen had slung Aibhlinn onto his shoulders and she kept a death grip on her father’s ears. Mabel sat obediently by Jared’s side. They had debated over leaving her with the Crutchfields until the morning they left. When Aibhlinn had burst into tears over it, they relented and took her, too, unable to make their daughter understand the separation was only temporary. After the incident with Traci, they decided it would be cruel to confuse her over this.

They weren't the only ones along the town’s Main Street. Large swaths of people milled about on both sides, talking and pointing as the first of the camels plodded through town, the jangle of their harness bells almost louder than the mooing and grunting of the foreign animals themselves as they kicked up dust along their trek. No one was riding the animals, but there were at least five men in red thobes, blue sirwal and kufiyas who either walked in front of or behind the animals. The army men trailed alongside their exotic charges.

“They look good,” Jensen remarked to Jared. And they did. Jared wasn't sure how long they had been at sea, but the quality of care they must have received was evident in their healthy size and the condition of their hides.

“Baby!” Aibhlinn shrieked delightedly. And Jared had to smirk at how Jensen winced. He wasn't sure if it was from the pitch their daughter had managed to reach, which reminded him of Genevieve’s squeals, or the tightening of her hands on his ears that did it. But she was right. In the midst of the camel train were two small ones too young to have been purchased. They must have been born during the crossing, a further testament to their good treatment.

“Those are camels, Evie,” Jared told her, trying to get to her loosen at least one of her hands off of his husband’s ears. They were turning red where she gripped them.

“Horse,” she argued.

“My sweet,” Jensen grimaced, “would you let go of Papa’s ears?”

“Love Papa,” she replied and banged her hands against his head like she would pat Mabel.

“And Papa loves you,” he assured her as he took advantage of the momentary freedom to reach back and pull her off his shoulders. He settled her between them and they continued to watch the procession along with what must have been most of San Antonio.

As the crowd walked along with the animals, apparently intending to follow them to San Pedro Springs, which was just north of town. Jared couldn't blame them. After all, they might never get another chance like this again.

With only a handful of people lingering, Jared wondered if they should follow along or have an early lunch. Aibhlinn was definitely no worse for wear after their six day stagecoach ride to get there, but he was feeling a little peaked. He was about to suggest that Jensen take their daughter along to the springs and he would take Mabel back to Mrs. Phillips’ Hotel and rest when a loud rumpus caught their attention. As they squinted against the morning sun, they saw that one camel had lagged behind the other. One of the Arab drivers and two of the Army men were trying, with little success, to get it to move along and catch up with the others. Thinking this might be an opportunity for their daughter to see one up close without the crowds of people who'd followed the main group, Jared nudged Jensen.

“Maybe we can get nearer to the obstinate one,” he joked as he picked Evie back up. He didn't want to chance those legs around their little girl. As they got closer, Jared couldn't help but notice something familiar about the beast. A little smaller than the others, the camel had an extremely pale hide so that it almost appeared white, with a shock of dark hair tufting on its head. He shook his head, dismissing his suspicion as a flight of fancy.

“Pretty,” Aibhlinn said, recently having perfected one of her favorite words. Jensen was strangely focused.

“It can’t be,” his husband murmured and quickened his step. Jared hugged their daughter closer and hurried to catch up. When they were within ten feet of the camel, there was no mistaking who it was.

Aroob.

They stood at the edge of the street and watched as the men tried to get the camel to hasten her step, but Aroob had done one better than digging her hooves in. She folded up her legs and sat down in the middle of the street, utterly done with the noisy drivers and exasperated Army men. It was a ludicrous sight to watch as some of the men pulled on her reins and others tried to push her from behind, especially after she broke wind. The men behind her looked positively green after that. However, it stopped being funny when one of the soldiers began talking about needing to put her down. The other ran off to find his commanding officer to get the appropriate permission.

“Aroob!” Jensen called out and then clicked his tongue.

“Roob!” Aibhlinn shouted, trying to sound like her father. Jared didn't know whether to chuckle or tear up. He fully planned on taking her inside one of the shops if the men shot the camel who had helped find him when he’d been lost in that terrifying storm.

Aroob slowly swung her head around like it was a pendulum and blinked her enormous eyes several times. When she saw Jensen, she stood up and slowly walked over to him. The drivers, initially excited that she was on her feet, were shouting and striking her with their crops to get her to stay on course down the road. It didn't work.

She stopped when she was directly in front of Jensen and battered her bushy eyelashes at him. Jensen reached up and stroked her along the front of her face and Aibhlinn strained against Jared’s arms to do the same thing.

“Roob,” she trilled when she was able to touch the camel’s nose.

The remaining soldier and drivers circled around them, nonplussed by the way the normally obstinate animal was behaving. One of the drivers tried a second time to steer her along, but she refused to budge even an inch. One soldier took off his cap and scratched at his head in frustrated bemusement.

The stalemate might very well have lasted all day if not for the timely arrival of the group’s commanding officer. He dismounted and tethered his horse nearby before approaching them.

“What seems to be the problem here, Private?” he demanded. Jared recognized the slow drawl of his speech as someone from the southern portion of the Union.

The soldier who had doffed his cap hastily repositioned it and saluted. “Major Wayne, we have had a devil of a time getting this beast to move. Neither the Arabs,” and Jared winced at the long, drawn out “ay” in the way he pronounced “Arab”, “nor us have gotten this camel to mind. I think the best course of action is to put it down.”

The major, a man of average height with a dark head of hair and beard to match, scowled at the private. “It seems to be fine now. I shouldn't like to think you’d be so quick to destroy a valuable investment of the U.S. Army. We’ve gone to a great deal of expense to make sure these animals arrived healthy and in good spirits and you want to throw it all away because this one is a little tardy?”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” the soldier explained respectfully, “but until this gentleman came along,” he nodded toward Jensen, “that critter had up and laid down in the middle of the street and there was no moving her. And it’s been like this since the ship.”

The officer regarded Jensen and his family briefly before he returned his scrutiny to the soldier. “It all seems in order now, so why don’t you quit your lallygagging and get a move on.”

“Yes, sir,” the man saluted and then he and the others proceeded to get nowhere with Aroob.

After letting the spectacle continue for a few minutes, the major sighed. “I see what you mean,” he admitted before addressing Jensen directly. “Major Henry Constantine Wayne, sir,” he introduced himself as he offered Jensen his hand.

“Jensen Ackles, Major. This is my husband, Jared Ackles, and our daughter Aibhlinn,” he replied easily.

“And what a pretty, little lady,” he remarked, curling his forefinger and rubbing the knuckle under Aibhlinn’s soft chin.

“Yes, pretty,” she agreed. Then she twisted in her mother’s arms and pointed to the camel. “Roob,” she announced happily.

Jensen cleared his throat and chuckled, “And that, as our clever daughter reminded me, is Aroob,” Jensen added. At the sound of her name, the camel snorted at him.

“And how would you know that, sir?” the major asked skeptically, but it did not escape his notice that the animal responded to Jensen.

“Because I used to own her,” Jensen replied easily enough. Only Jared detected the way his husband’s shoulders tightened, bracing himself for whatever derogatory slur might follow suit after that revaluation.

“You don’t say,” Major Wayne drawled before turning around and digging something out of one of his saddlebags. When he faced the others again, he had a small ledger in his hands. Flipping rapidly through the book, he found the page he was searching for and dragged a gloved finger down a series of notations before tapping succinctly on one of them. “This was one of the nine camels we acquired in Egypt. We bought this from a man named –”

“Ammar,” Jensen finished for him and the officer raised an incredulous face up to him.

“That’s correct, sir,” he drawled. “And you say she was yours once? Might I be so bold as to ask how that could be?”

Jensen stiffened his spine. “Because I come from Qatar. It is a land that is often casually grouped together with other countries and generally referred to as the Arabian Peninsula.”

The major nodded. “That would be southeast of the Levant. Well, you’d never know to look at you,” and he said it as though Jensen should consider himself fortunate. “I am at a loss as to what to do with the beast. I have no need of one that won't obey commands, but she is something our Congress bought and paid for.”

“If I may, sir,” Jared chimed in. The major cocked his eyebrow, probably over Jared’s accent and he briefly wondered if his ancestry would need to be detailed as well, but the man remained silent. “If she isn’t worth your time and effort, perhaps we could reimburse you for her and take her off your hands.”

The major remained silent, but Jared could practically see the cogs in his head churning about. “Well,” he finally continued, making a show of dragging the words out, “we started out with thirty three animals when we set sail in February. We lost a male during the journey, but two calves were born. I suppose that puts us ahead by one. So if I was to recoup the government’s investment on this peculiar camel, rather than write her off as a loss if I were to follow my private’s suggestion, the Army would actually already see a profit from the venture.”

He studied his ledger and then turned it around for both Jared and Jensen to see. “We paid the standard rate of two hundred and fifty dollars. Are you sure you want to spend that kind of money on her? You could get a decent slave for the same amount and get more value for your dollar.”

Jared remembered only too well the man who Jensen had given Aroob to. A generous man, who Jensen said had been stripped of his land by his ruler. For someone who might only get five or ten cents for a day’s hard labor, two hundred and fifty dollars would mean the world. And for someone his age, who he recalled Jensen describing as “tired and worn”, he would have been a fool to turn down the windfall.

“She’s more than worth it,” Jensen answered smoothly as he removed his billfold from his coat. “Might we buy her tack as well?”

The major gave Aroob a cursory glance and then nodded. “Lieutenant Porter will be returning to the Levant later this year to purchase another group of camels and we can acquire additional tack then. A regular saddle with saddle bags is about twenty-five dollars. This is a might bigger, so we’ll settle on thirty-five?”

Jensen narrowed his eyes. “You would have paid no more than ten dollars in Egypt for it all. But I suppose the rest is a fair import tariff.”

“Let’s make it thirty,” the man replied quickly, “since you are helping me out.”

“Done,” Jensen snapped and counted out the bills while Jared pulled off the ridiculous bell and gave it back to the soldier.

While the major made a show of recounting the money, Jensen clicked his tongue and Aroob once more returned to the ground. With an economy of motion, Jensen swung himself onto the saddle and locked his leg in place. He turned to the Arab driver and asked for a crop in their shared language.

“Here you go,” the man replied in Arabic. The major’s brow furrowed at how easily the two conversed.

“Papa,” Aibhlinn called and Jared handed her over to him. Jensen situated her in front of him, one arm wrapped protectively around her middle and clicked again. Aroob clambered to her feet and obediently followed Jensen’s subtle commands, circling around in the street at an easy pace. Mabel ambled alongside her and neither seemed put out by the other’s presence. Jared smiled as he watched Jensen take their daughter on her first camel ride. Even from down the street, he heard her happy chuckles as her father dutifully explained the commands – in Arabic – to have Aroob turn, speed up and slow down.

“Isn’t that something?” the soldier whistled.

“Yes,” Jared replied proudly. “He is, isn’t he?” As his family got used to its newest member, he was already contemplating how they would all manage to get back to Dallas and hoped Thomas had room in his stables for one more.

 

_September 1857_

_Madison Valley, the Idaho Territory_

The sun painted the land gold. Jared settled down on the steps of the porch with his pencils and watercolors. The heat felt good on his skin, although there was already a bite to the air in the early mornings. The seasons were changing.

“Hold still, Maybee,” Aibhlinn instructed the dog, never having gotten around to pronouncing her name correctly. For her part, Mabel sat absolutely still. His daughter backed up slowly, step by awkward step. She was still getting used to her new boots. Not for the first time, Jared shook his head at her.

Three and a half and she was a tiny whirlwind. Dressed in what was fast becoming her favorite outfit, she wore a long sleeved shirt paired with denim trousers just like her father. Jared was grateful they’d bought enough denim imported from the Levi Strauss & Company in San Francisco before they’d left Dallas for the final time. At the rate both she and Jensen wore through their work trousers, he’d need to find a tailor to sew them new pairs and soon. When she was about ten feet away from their mastiff, she slowly started to swing her lariat in the air.

Jared had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing. She was so earnest about her efforts, trying to be like her daddy in too many ways. She barely had enough strength to twirl the cord around, let alone rope Mabel. But she had seen Jensen do it often enough on their six month trek from Dallas to Madison Valley with the five hundred head of steer he and the hired men drove. If her daddy did it, she would, too.

“Uh oh,” she moaned and walked over to collect the rope and try again.

Jared smiled and rubbed his stomach distractedly. There was elk stew on the stove and he hoped Jensen wouldn’t be out much longer. Although they’d been settled in their home for almost a month, the older man was constantly on the move, checking the herd, checking the fences and generally keeping track of their hired hands.

“They’re hired to do the work, love,” he’d whispered late one night to his husband about a week after they had arrived.

“Yes, but they work harder if I keep an eye on them,” he’d grumbled, pulling Jared tight against his chest.

“You found good men,” Jared assured him. “Like you found a good agent to purchase this land and have the house built.”

“You have a point,” he conceded. “This bed is exceedingly comfortable. We should christen it properly, I think.” They did.

And the house was perfect. While he, Jensen and their daughter drove the longhorns they’d purchased in Texas across the plains to the region called Montana by those who were settled there, their agent had acquired enough acres to accommodate the herd and contracted men to build the house, stables and various outbuildings, including a bunkhouse for the men Jensen had handpicked back in Dallas. Made from huge pines and beautiful river rock, Jared couldn’t have imagined a more beautiful home. With the green mountains behind them and not too far from the Madison River, the fertile spot was ideal for their cattle to graze.

The drive hadn't been easy, by any means. And that had been the first, real point of contention in his and Jensen’s married life. Jensen had argued that because of the rugged nature of the trip, Jared should have remained with Aibhlinn in Dallas until Jensen got everything settled in Madison Valley. Jared was both incredibly livid and ridiculously pleased with his husband’s protective streak. He countered every one of his husband’s arguments, pointing out that there had been an epidemic not that long ago in Dallas, like in London. Being in a town could be as fraught with danger as being on the trail with him. He reminded the older man how Thomas Crutchfield had recounted the Indian raid that he and some of the hotel guests stopped along the banks of Turtle Creek not too long before their arrival. There was no guarantee there wouldn’t be another and did Jensen want them to face that alone?

His husband had growled and grumbled and had adjusted their travel plans the next day.

When they’d returned to Dallas after getting Aroob, they spent the next, nine months getting everything finalized, from researching and buying the best stock, to collecting furniture, contacting families Crutchfield knew and recommended personally so as to know where the towns and major settlements were, storing up enough provision to not only get them through the trip, but the fall and winter once they arrived. And there was the meticulous way Jensen went about hiring men who would not only drive the cattle, but stay on as ranch hands for at least a year. Jensen offered a more than generous pay and had to turn away four times as many men as they could hire.

Jared would be a liar if he said there weren’t moments that he almost wished he hadn’t fought Jensen about coming with him. There were a few, minor skirmishes with the indigenous people as they crossed the sixteen hundred miles between Dallas and what was to be their home. No one had been seriously hurt, but the arrow that struck their wagon was a brutal reminder that they hadn't chosen an easy life and they were very much strangers in a strange land. But the weather had held, since they’d left at the first sign of spring and the longhorn, being as sturdy as they were, managed to fend for themselves as summer took hold. And there was sleeping under the stars with Jensen. Jared sighed blissfully. They’d made love in places that had stolen his breath, when his husband wasn’t doing it, and the memories were priceless. And they’d made more than memories, too.

As he tried to work on his latest project, something personal this time, he heard the familiar thump of Shaitan’s gait not too far away. Aibhlinn was much too engrossed in her roping practice to notice her father’s imminent return, so Jared kept sketching. The image, inspired by their surroundings, exemplified more of a feeling than an actual place. He smiled as he contemplated who it was for.

Soon enough, he heard Jensen’s boots on the wooden floors inside. That meant he’d snuck in through the kitchen and probably sampled the stew on his way out to find them. He bent over his tablet and kept sketching. Eventually, Jensen came through the front door, walked across their porch and climbed down the few steps so he could sit behind Jared. He slipped his hands about Jared’s waist, hands resting instinctively on Jared’s stomach. Jared snuggled back into the “v” of his legs, loving the way his husband cradled his body, and continued to draw.

“Hello, darlin’,” Jensen drawled and Jared shivered at the sound. Somewhere along their journey, he’d picked up a little of the cadence of the men’s speech. Jared would never be mistaken for a local, but Jensen could be.

He leaned over his shoulder and gave his husband a kiss that was both sweet and filthy, since their daughter wasn’t looking. He meant to turn back, but Jensen caught his face in his gloved hand and held him in place, deepening it until Jared could barely breathe.

“Howdy, cowboy,” Jared gasped when they did stop, grinning up at Jensen’s hat.

Jensen smirked and tipped the brim back with one finger. “Howdy, sweetheart.”

“And how was everything?” Jared asked.

“One section of fence needing mending already,” Jensen sighed and leaned back against a step, but returned his hands to Jared’s waist, thumbs rubbing up and down his stomach soothingly. “And a few steer got out. We rounded ‘em up just fine, though,” he admitted. They were one of the few ranches around and not only already had a steady demand for the beef from nearby locals, but they considered driving some next year down towards the Oregon Trail and selling to emigrants as they passed through. Jensen had also selected horses for breeding, but they decided that Shaitan and Alya would never be bred with them, as Richards had tried to do. Any offspring between those two would be kept within the family.

Family. The word filled Jared up with so much love he wondered how he was able to contain it at times.

“And how was your day?” Jensen asked gently, content to rest where he was. After a day in the saddle, he’d need a bath and Jared contemplated joining him. After their daughter was tucked away in bed, of course.

“We spent the morning hunting rabbits,” Jared responded, head ducked down over his work.

“Really?” Jensen mumbled, as he relaxed in the late afternoon sun.

“Yes, Mabel and Aibhlinn think they know where a warren is and she’d like to make pets out of them. So,” Jared sighed deeply, “no bringing in any from the traps for a while. I’d rather not have that conversation anytime soon.”

“Mm, I agree,” Jensen drawled, sounding sleepier by the minute.

“And J.D. stopped by,” Jared added casually. Jensen shot up at the name.

“Morgan was here?” his husband growled.

“Yes, he said to tell you he was sorry he missed you,” he added. “He just stopped by to see how we were settling in and if there was anything we needed.”

“The man lives eighty miles west of us. He didn’t ‘just’ stop by,” Jensen muttered.

Jared twisted his head around, genuinely confused by the older man’s animosity. “He was being neighborly, Jensen.”

“Neighborly my ass,” he snorted, throwing out another bit of slang he’d picked up from the hands. No longer content to lay back, Jensen hooked his chin possessively over Jared’s shoulder and took a look at what he had been working on. “What’s that?” he asked, before trailing his tongue around the shell of Jared’s ear.

“Jensen,” he sighed.

“She hasn’t even noticed I’m here,” Jensen exhaled hotly and Jared shivered, goose flesh rising along his neck. “Every time,” Jensen crowed lowly in triumph.

“It-it’s a book for our child,” Jared stammered as the blood rushed south of his brain.

“Hmm,” Jensen hummed and made a closer inspection of it. He stopped his attack on Jared’s ear and the younger man tried to collect himself. When Jensen stayed quiet, Jared smiled softly to himself.

“What do you think of it?” he finally asked.

“Well,” and Jensen cleared his throat, “it’s beautiful work,” he began diplomatically, “but the subject seems too simple. I thought we decided that Evie was ready for words and basic phrases now.”

“Oh,” Jared grinned and ducked his head down so Jensen couldn’t see his face, “she most definitely is ready for that.”

“But…” Jensen trailed off, adorably befuddled.

“I never said this was for Aibhlinn,” Jared answered in a calm, even tone.

“But…” Jensen repeated himself and Jared had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from blurting it out, “you said it was…for…our…”

Jared tilted his head from one side to the other, adding strokes and touches here and there as if the epiphany that Jensen was having wasn’t monumental. “Mm hmm,” he agreed. “Our child.”

“Jared, are you?” he wondered quietly, unable to say the word, as he shifted down a step to be on the same level as him, one leg behind Jared’s back.

Jared peeked up at him through his fringe, longer now than it had ever been. Jensen seemed determined to keep him from cutting it despite how short he maintained his own strands. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth and nodded vigorously.

“Whoop!” he shouted and pulled Jared in for a fierce hug. Jared barely managed to set his work aside before he was enveloped in his husband’s strong arms. Jensen smelled of horses and sweat and home.

As they kissed a second time, Jensen wormed his hand under Jared’s chambray shirt and stroked his stomach gently. Jared smiled against his husband’s lush mouth.

“Your little trailblazer,” he giggled helplessly at the featherlight touch.

Jensen returned the smile and considered Jared for a long time. “All our miracles,” he finally whispered, “are created under the stars.”

“Jensen,” he croaked, trembling.

“Mama!” Aibhlinn squealed. “Papa! Look, Papa!”

Both men turned to see what had excited their daughter. It was probably all the emotion of the moment catching up with him, because when Jared saw her, he had to wipe a tear from his eye.

Standing proudly, Aibhlinn pointed at her lasso, which dangled diagonally across Mabel’s massive head. And Mabel, bless her, hadn’t budged an inch. She simply stood there, her forever forlorn expression as morose as ever.

“What a good job,” Jensen cheered her as he settled close enough to drape an arm about Jared’s shoulders. Squeezing Jared’s arm, he proceeded to offer Aibhlinn tips as she attempted to duplicate her amazing feat a second time.

Jared sank against his husband, as a wave of absolute contentment swept over him. Set against wheeling, white clouds and an endless, cornflower blue sky, Jared watched his daughter laugh and giggle, her blonde curls shining like spun gold. If there was a sweeter sound in this life, he couldn’t imagine what that might be. A long, steady line of heat pressed up against his side, his husband’s scent wrapping around him like a blanket, the rumble of his deep laugh reverberating pleasantly through his body like it was his own. With one hand pressed to his stomach, he grasped the discarded tablet and balanced it on his knees. The future was spread out before him, filled with the sights and sounds of his family. Jared picked up his pencil and began to draw.  

 

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off all, let me mention the last historical facts for this story.
> 
> Mr. Richards work in breeding Arabians would sadly all be lost during the Civil War. And as much as it seems a deus ex machina, there really was a U.S. Camel Corps exactly as described in this chapter. A second batch of about forty camels would be brought over in 1857. And, as with Richards' Arabians, the camels would not survive as a military animal primarily due to the Civil War, too. The last sighting of a wild camel in the U.S. was reported in 1910.
> 
> Second of all, this arc is now finished. The seed for this story was planted last August and, after three months of researching and plotting out, I began posting this WIP on November 1st, 2015. I mostly made my weekly deadlines and here we are at the end. There is a sequel planned and nearly plotted to completion, but I have other projects that need to come first (such as two short stories for wonderful people who bid on me for nyxocity's auction a few months back). For those who might want a small teaser of what is eventually to come, you can check out [this](http://phoenix1966.livejournal.com/21720.html) LiveJournal post I made. It is SFW.
> 
> Lastly, to all of you who took the time to comment, I thank you and hope you enjoyed the ride. To those of you who commented on every or nearly every chapter, I appreciated your enthusiasm and company more than I can say.

**Author's Note:**

> You can check my side Tumblr for update notifications (like if I'm going to be running a day or two late) at [phoenix1966sbottom](http://phoenix1966sbottom.tumblr.com/).


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